


At worlds end

by Mast3rofd3ath



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boatbaby (Game of Thrones), Bran Stark Has Emotions, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Minor Meera Reed/Bran Stark, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Sansa Stark Bashing, Targlings (ASoIaF), The Long Night
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mast3rofd3ath/pseuds/Mast3rofd3ath
Summary: What I wanted season 8 to be- ON HIATUS DUE TO OTHER STORY & WRITERS BLOCK, SORRY -
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Bronn/Tyene Sand, Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Grey Worm/Missandei, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Sarella Sand/Willas Tyrell
Comments: 32
Kudos: 125





	1. Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic Dany's allies aren't all slaughtered like animals and dorne isn't shat on. Doran and Ellaria work together to get justice for elia, oberyn, rhaenys and aegon. Willias and Garlan Tyrell EXIST people.

After a month and a half of travel, Jon was happy to be back home in Winterfell. But despite his happiness, his excitement to see Bran and Arya, he was also apprehensive. He knew that the Northern Lords, that Sansa, wouldn’t see Daenerys as their ally or friend. He hoped that after meeting her and seeing her for who she was – a kind, gracious, strong woman – they might come to agree with his choice to have bent the knee.

  


But northern lords and ladies were proud and prickly at the best of times, and after the wars they had experienced, the people they had lost to southern rulers and the game of thrones, Jon knew it would be difficult. He had warned Daenerys, and she had soothed his worries. She knew how many saw her as nothing but a foreign invader; but she wasn’t. She hadn’t invaded, she hadn’t done anything to show she was like her Targaryen forebears.

  


Jon had felt as though Daenerys had been a saviour from the gods when she swooped in on her dragons north of the wall. He had seen her look of utter terror when Viserion had been harmed, an ice spear slicing through his wing; thankfully, dragons were made of hardier stuff and the gold and cream beast had lived despite his injuries. Jon, however, would have died if not for Benjen. His uncle had saved his life and revealed some truths during their ride back to the wall.

  


Jon wasn’t Eddard Stark’s son, Benjen had said. He was the trueborn son of Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen. They had ignited a war because of their actions. Throughout their journey from the wall to Kings Landing, Jon had stewed and fumed over their stupidity. He had also silently and fervently cursed Eddard Stark; yes, the man had kept him safe and alive from those who would do anything to slaughter a Targaryen, but he had lied to him all his life.

  


The knowledge hadn’t stopped Jon for acting on his feelings for Daenerys. They had lain together many times on the journey to Kings Landing and back to White Harbor. He hadn’t told her the truth yet. He wanted to. But Dany had fought with everything she had to get to where she was. If she learned there was a trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen, who knew how it would affect her. Jon wasn’t bothered about their relation, either; Eddard’s grandparents had been first cousins. Uncles wed nieces all the time. It wasn’t unheard of.

  


Jon looked up suddenly as the smallfolk lining the road to Winterfell gasped and cried out. He watched as Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion flew over the procession of Unsullied and Dothraki. He glanced at Dany, his lips twitching as she beamed.

  


Their horses suddenly came to a halt, and Jon looked before them. Standing in the road were two children clutching half wilted winter roses. He smiled and dismounted, moving to stand next to Dany’s pale mare as she did the same.

  


“Your graces!” the girl chirped happily, thrusting the bouquet at Dany, “Welcome to Winterfell, your Grace!”

  


Dany dropped into a crouch, uncaring that her white furred cloak landed in muddy snow slush. She smiled gently at the children, “Thank you very much. My name is Daenerys, what’s yours?”

  


“Lara,” the girl said happily, flashing Jon a beaming grin.

  


“I’m Vynce, y’graces,” the little boy said shyly, handing Jon the bouquet he held, “D’you really ride the dragons?”

  


“Yes, I do. The big black and red one, Drogon is his name,” Daenerys murmured, smelling the flowers with a beatific smile on her face, “Thank you again for the flowers,”

  


“I’ve seen her fly them,” Jon added, crouching beside Dany. She shot him a warm, amused smile, “It’s really impressive,” 

  


Lara and Vynce stared at Dany with wide, adoring eyes, “So amazing, your grace,” Lara mumbled.

  


“Lara, Vynce!” a worried voice called, and the kids hastily mumbled their goodbyes before fleeing into the crowd.

  


Jon and Daenerys mounted their horses, both chuckling at the children’s antics. Jon glanced around, satisfaction welling as he saw the smallfolk now looking thoughtful rather than frosty. They continued to Winterfell, speaking lowly between themselves. Behind them rattled several carriages; inside one adorned with flowers sat Olenna Tyrell, thankfully saved from death by Jon’s quick thinking – he’d mused that Cersei needed gold and food to feed those in Kings Landing and so Highgarden had been emptied of everything – though the Lannister army had been hit hard by Dany and Drogon.

  


Jon didn’t feel much sympathy for Randyll Tarly. The man had been monstrously cruel to Sam. Dickon, however, had been taken to Horn Hill with a small guard of Tyrell men to ensure that the new Lord was kept there. Randyll had betrayed his liege lord, Willas, and had been executed by him. Garlan Tyrell had also been sent to Horn Hill to act as Castellan until after the war.

  


Ellaria Sand and her daughters were also in a carriage adorned with suns and spears joined by Trystane, Quentyn, Arianne and their father Doran. The man had been admant that he joined them in Winterfell despite his gout. Myrcella Baratheon had been hesitant when meeting Daenerys, but the Dragon Queen didn’t judge a daughter or son for the sins of their fathers.

  


It was one of the many things Jon admired about her.

  


Yara Greyjoy was sailing up the west coast of Westeros and planned to anchor near Blazewater bay then sail up to Barrowtown and ride for Winterfell. They’d thankfully dodge Euron Greyjoy.

  


Jon’s heart leapt into his throat as he and Dany rode into the inner courtyard of Winterfell. The household, northern lords, and Knights of the Vale all stood before them looking unimpressed and grouchy. Jon ignored them for the two familiar faces staring at him with smiles. He swiftly dismounted and jogged toward them. He kissed Bran on the forehead and embraced him.

  


“Look at you,” he said roughly, emotion choking him, “You’re a man,”

  


Bran smiled warmly, “Hello, Jon,”

  


Jon grunted as Arya lunged and wrapped him in a tight, choking hug, “Little sister,” he breathed, holding her as tightly as he dared. She was taller, though not by much. He finally disentangled himself and smiled down at her, “We'll catch up later, okay?”

  


Arya smiled and nodded, her grey eyes darting over Jon’s shoulder. She stepped back and swept into a dramatic bow, “ _Aōha dārōñe, issa iā pleasure naejot rhaenagon ao. Eman ryptan naenie sȳz ra nūmāzma se pryjatys hen belma_ ,”

  


While Jon gawked at his baby sister, Daenerys laughed in delight and stepped forward to clasp Arya's hands, “ _Istia sagon Āria Stārke. Ionos ēza ivestretan nyke hen zȳhon nēdenka vīlībāzmio mandia. Se pleasure iksis ñuhon_ ,”

  


Arya smirked sharply and stepped back in line; hands folded behind her back. Jon approached Sansa, who looked as cold as the snow on the ground. She reciprocated his hug stiffly, welcoming him back just as rigidly. He internally sighed, but stepped back and motioned to Daenerys, “Queen Daenerys, my sister Sansa Stark the Lady of Winterfell,”

  


Daenerys smiled warmly, “Jon has told me of you, Lady Sansa. It’s a pleasure to meet you,”

  


Jon gritted his teeth as Sansa swept her gaze up and down Daenerys, voice icy as she responded, “Winterfell is yours, your Grace,”

  


Daenerys kept her warm smile, but Jon noticed that her eyes narrowed slightly. He internally groaned, but was kept from saying something when Bran piped up, “Your Grace, Jon, we have to hold a council. The wall has fallen,”

  


Jon felt dread right to his very bones.

  


***

  


Daenerys had underestimated Jon’s warning; she knew that now. After being icily greeted by Sansa Stark, she’d seen the suspecting looks the northern lords and ladies threw her and her allies. Lady Olenna, Prince Doran, and Lady Ellaria all looked disgusted with the lords that surrounded them; were they so stupid and prideful they’d throw away their help for nothing but their pride?

  


Daenerys stood by the large, roaring hearth in the room and warmed her hands over the flames as the lords and ladies found their seats. Jon sat at the high table between Jon and Olenna, the older woman looking amused at something or other. Willas Tyrell sat with his injured leg resting out in front of him, a slight grimace on his pale face.

  


“We need more wagons, m’lady, to bring our people and provisions to Winterfell,” Little Ned Umber said, glancing at Daenerys, “Your grace.” Then at Jon, “Your grace,”  
  


Daenerys smiled softly at the boy as Sansa answered, “We will provide you with the wagons and horses we can,” she said, sounding dismissive.

  


“I have several dozen wagons if need be, my Lord,” Daenerys said reassuringly, “I can also spare a dozen of my Unsullied and Dothraki to assist you,”

  


Relief washed over Little Ned’s face, “Thank you, your Graces, my lady,”

  


Suddenly, a chair scraped the floor and a small, dark haired girl stood and glared at Jon coldly, “‘Your grace’? But you’re not, are you? You gave up your crown for a southern ruler,”

  


Jon stood, expression solemn, “And I will forever remember that the lords of the north placed their trust in me to be their king, Lady Lyanna. But that doesn’t matter now. The wall has fallen, and the dead are coming for all of us. I had a choice: to keep my crown and put the north in further peril, or bend the knee and gather allies to help us against a near impossible enemy and save the north,”

  


The lords began grumbling and shouting, and Daenerys inhaled a fortifying breath. Another chair scraped, and she glanced to her left where Tyrion sat. the man had stood, and he now rounded the table in order to be seen better, “Jon Snow is right. The enemy coming for us wont care who holds a crown, nor whose king of where. They will kill every single one of us. Jon Snow did the best thing he could: he gained an alliance, and through that alliance, the largest army the world has ever seen. Over one hundred thousand Dothraki, ten thousand Unsullied, fifteen thousand Reachmen, twenty thousand Dornishmen, and three full grown dragons. Lannister forces numbering twenty-five thousand are also coming from the south,”

  


More jeers and shouts sounded then, and Daenerys stood. She almost smiled when the lords and ladies silenced abruptly, “My lords, my lady’s. I know what you all think of me. I have heard it all already. Many call me a foreign invader, a foreign whore overreaching for something that isn’t hers.” She swept her gaze over the crowd, satisfied when some men and women looked away with shame in their eyes, “I am not here to subjugate or demand you follow me without question. Many kings and queens before me have demanded that, and they are all dead.” She swallowed, lacing her fingers tightly, “My father was an evil man. He was cruel, and evil, and he got the end he deserved. All my life I’ve been told stories of who and what my father was. I witnessed my brother dissolve into madness. I know what members of my family have done to Westeros.”

Muffled agreements rolled through the room, and Daenerys smiled, “But it seems to me, my lords and ladies, that _you_ have all forgotten that while a few members of my family may have been unwell, or mad as the bards say, many were good rulers. The Targaryen’s rid the Riverlands of the raping and reaving of Harren the Black and gave the lands to the Late Catelyn Stark’s family, the Tully’s. the Targaryen’s brought order and law to Westeros. I know that my family is only remembered by the terrible actions of a few, but I promise you that I will change your opinion of my family, of me; I merely ask you not to judge a daughter for the sins of her father and brother,”

  


Daenerys sat, watching as many of the lords and ladies shared speculative looks. She met Tyrion and Olenna’s gazes, and they smirked and nodded approvingly. She stiffened as Lady Sansa piped up coldly, “That is all well and good, your grace, but I did not account for the largest army the world has ever seen and three full-grown dragons when stockpiling for winter. What do dragons even eat?”

  


“Whatever they want, I suspect," Lady Olenna said sharply, giving Lady Sansa a look of purest contempt, “You stockpiled for winter, you say? Well, the Citadel says this will be the longest winter in living memory. Ten years or more. You stockpiled food for ten years, Lady Sansa? What about after?”

  


Sansa glared at the elderly lady, “I –”

  


“Oh, I don’t particularly care for your answer. It was rhetorical, girl. Her grace ordered Willas, Garlan and I to empty Highgarden.” Olenna waved a hand, “Your stubborn and prideful northmen are welcome to the millions of provisions we brought if they could get over themselves,”

  


Daenerys stifled a snort of amusement and glanced at Tyrion, who looked just as strained while his mismatched eyes twinkled with mirth. She turned back to Jon as he stood, his own lips twitching, “Lady Olenna is right, as always.” The woman in question saluted Jon with her mug of mulled wine, “Queen Daenerys brought enough provisions to feed not only her own army and allies and her dragons, but the north. Now is not time for a pissing contest over who is king or who is queen; it’s time to fight for our very survival. The wall has fallen, and the smiths are working overtime to ensure that everyone is outfitted with dragonglass,”

  


Soon after that, the council dispersed. Daenerys stood and joined Jon, who gave her a warm smile and reached out to squeeze her hand, “That went better than anticipated,” he muttered tiredly.

  


Daenerys chuckled, “Yes, it did. But I think I can handle a few stubborn lords. I did manage to defeat the masters of Slavers Bay,”

  


Jon smirked, “Indeed you did. Do you want to join me in the Godswood?”

  


Daenerys nodded, “I want to see it; I’ve never seen one before, but I’ve heard they’re beautiful,”

  


“They are,” Jon agreed, leading her from the Great Hall. They strode through the busy courtyard, offering smiles and waves to those they saw and recognised, before entering the Godswood through an iron gate. Snow crunched underfoot, the silence beyond peaceful, “But not as beautiful as you,”

  


Daenerys laughed and looked up at him, “That was almost smooth, Jon Snow,”

  


Laughing, Jon led her towards a large, pale tree with bloodred leaves. Daenerys’ breath caught as she gazed into the red eyes weeping red sap, “It’s stunning,”

  


“Aye,” Jon murmured softly, running his thumb over the back of her hand, “The most peaceful place here. I used to come here a lot as a boy…”

  


Daenerys turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling softly, “No one to bother you?”

  


Jon hummed, reciprocating her embrace. She sighed softly as he leaned down and kissed her, “It was the only place Lady Catelyn barely entered,”

  


Daenerys frowned, “I’m sorry that your sisters and brother lost their mother, but she doesn’t sound like a very nice woman,”

  


Jon shrugged a bit, turning to stare at the Heart Tree, “It couldn’t have been easy knowing there was another woman your husband loved enough to keep her child around,”

  


“Jon,” Daenerys said softly, placing her gloved hand on his cheek. His dark eyes met hers, and she offered a small, sad smile, “You and I – we’re survivors. We survive that which many expect would kill us. But here we are, together, at the end of the world preparing for a war we might not survive. But I hope we do,”

  


“Me too,” Jon breathed, resting his forehead against hers.

  


“Gross.”

  


Daenerys pulled away from Jon, lips twitching, and turned to meet Lady Arya’s grey gaze. She looked both amused and a little grossed out. Jon sighed, “Arya,”

  


Arya grinned unrepentantly, “You have rooms in which to be gross in, Jon, don’t insult the gods by fucking your queenly love in the Godswood,”

  


Daenerys saw Jon’s affronted expression and broke, tossing her head back and laughing loudly even as she felt a small pang of envy at the show of siblings teasing one another.

  


***

“How much farther, do you reckon?”

  


Jaime glanced at Bronn, who looked less than pleased at being dragged from the arms of a supple whore to travel north, then looked back at Ser Addam Marbrand, Jaime’s friend and Commander of the Lannister forces. It hadn’t taken long for Addam to get his men to agree to ride North. Many of them were terrified of Cersei and her proclivity for wildfire after the Sept of Baelor went up in poisonous green flames. Jaime himself had emptied the contents of his stomach after returning from the Riverrun Siege to see the smoke billowing into the air.

  


Jaime didn’t know why he stayed. Things between Cersei and he had been fraught with tension since he had returned from war less one hand. She had recoiled from him, disgust and contempt in her gaze. Then Tommen had thrown himself from the balcony, and word spread that Myrcella was in Winterfell with her betrothed, Trystayne. It only made the decision to leave Kings Landing easier.

  


Now he, Bronn, and Addam lead a host of near to thirty thousand men North to most likely die. But Jaime had finally taken up the mantle of Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West. He wondered if Daenerys Targaryen would let him keep it, or have her dragons burn him. He somehow doubted she would, even if she had destroyed a quarter of the Lannister forced on the Gold road.

  


“Takin’ me fooken’ north to be burnt alive, fooken’ cunt,” Bronn muttered, as he had been for the two-week ride from the capitol to the Trident.

  


Jaime resisted the urge to punch him, “I gave you five hundred gold dragons, and you’ll get your castle,”

  


“Yeh? Which castle?” Bronn demanded, waving a hand.

  


“The Twins,” Addam said suddenly, looking amused, “Old Walder croaked. His wife was said to have run from the Great Hall screaming about girls removing their face and saying, ‘ _winter came for House Frey_ ,’”

  


“Served the cunt right,” Bronn said.

  


Jaime sighed, “Well, you’re not wrong,”

  


“How much farther to Greywater Watch?” Addam asked, peering ahead through the light snowfall.

  


“First we go west,” Jaime stated seriously, “Or a small garrison of men, to get Edmure Tully and the Blackfish,”

  


“What makes you think they’ll believe you?” Addam asked, eyebrows raised, “You sieged their castle, killed their kin,”

  


Jaime rolled his eyes, “I’m persuasive,”

  


“Uh-huh.” Bronn’s voice was uncharacteristically cheerful, “We’re all going to die,”

  


Jaime really hated having cynical friends, but Bronn had grown on him. He’d known Addam his entire life, and they had always gotten along. What made him feel nothing, but exhaustion was Bronn and Addam teasing him about Brienne.

  


Jaime remembered her words to him in the dragon pit at the summit. _‘Fuck loyalty,’_ she’d said to him, a fierce glint in her eyes. Her grip on his crippled arm had been strong and had stunned him beyond belief. No one had touched his handless arm in so long besides himself, it had made him almost lash out. But then Brienne’s bright, fierce gaze had caught his attention and, well, Bronn had told Addam laughingly that Jaime had fallen for the woman and Addam had begun to tease him relentlessly.

  


When night fell, they pulled off the Kings Road and set up camp. Jaime sent off a dozen riders with a letter for Edmure and the Blackfish. Hopefully, the men would call their banners, no matter how little the force turned out to be and rode north. They should, as their house words were Family, Duty, Honour. Sansa, Brandon, and Arya Stark were their nieces and nephew.

  


Jaime slept fitfully that night, as he usually did. His dreams were full of wildfire and memories he wished to forget. He dreamed of a big black bear tearing Brienne apart, of Cersei forcing Brienne to drink wildfire, the sept, the entirety of Kings Landing going up in a ball of emerald fire. He woke before dawn, feeling more exhausted than ever, and swiftly dressed before making his way to the fire. The men there handed him some salt pork and a mug of watery ale, but he downed both easily.

  


They rode out shortly after dawn, the tents packed away on a cart. He rode up front with Bronn and Addam, half-heartedly joining in on their conversation, but mostly keeping to himself as his anxiety grew the closer north they got.

  


Jaime just hoped his men weren’t slaughtered when they got to Winterfell.

  


***

  


After leaving Jon and Arya to their reunion, Daenerys made her way into the Dothraki camp. The men shouted greetings to her happily, all of them bundled in furs rather than leathers, and handed her a horn of fermented mare’s milk. She ensured that they were okay and well looked after, smiling happily when they agreed. Next, she went through the Unsullied camp to make sure that the grumpy northmen and women weren’t treating them harshly. They had a day or two to relax before the digging of trenches would begin. Her dragons would soften the ground for the men and women volunteering to help dig.

  


Daenerys made her way into the keep, smiling when Ser Jorah appeared beside her, “Ser Jorah, how is it being back in the north?”

  


Ser Jorah smiled warmly, “It feels good, Khaleesi. I found him, Sam, who healed me of Greyscale,”

  


“Take me to him, Jorah, I wish to thank him. Then I should sup with my allies,” she mused, linking her arm with Jorah’s.

  


Jorah led her through the keep, pointing out certain places he remembered from his last visit years ago. They entered the library, a warm, cosy room full of shelves bulging with books and scrolls. In the back seated at a table was a plump man bowed over a thick book, mumbling to himself.

  


Daenerys gently cleared her throat, smiling in amusement as the man, Sam, peered at her with annoyance before realizing who she was. He gasped and stood, almost stumbling over his own feet, before he righted himself and bowed, “What can I help you with, your Grace?”

  


“You’re the man,” she stated warmly, happily.

  


“I – I – beg pardon, your grace?” Sam asked, bewildered.

  


“You’re the man who saved Ser Jorah’s life when no one else could,” Daenerys stated, smiling brightly.

  


“They could,” Ser Jorah remarked, “They just wouldn’t,”

  


Daenerys chuckled softly, “It seems that there should be many changes to the citadel once I take the throne. Lady Sarella Sand mentioned that she knows you?”

  


Sam smiled, “Oh, yes, your grace. We called him – her – Alleras the Sphynx,”

  


“She mentioned that, too.” Daenerys stepped forward and took Sam’s hands, squeezing them tightly, “How might I reward you as thanks for saving my closest and dearest friends life, Sam?”

  


“Oh, um,” Sam mumbled, “I might need a pardon, your grace,”

  


Daenerys frowned in bemusement, “For what crime?”

  


“I might have…borrowed a few books from the citadel,” Sam said slowly.

  


Daenerys looked over her shoulder and shared an amused grin with Ser Jorah before meeting Sam’s gaze once again, “Of course, Sam. I’d be happy to,”

  


“And I, um, borrowed a sword from my family. Heartsbane has been in House Tarly for generations. It would have been mine eventually…but my father had other ideas,” Sam rambled, looking panicked.

  


Daenerys frowned slightly, “Not Randyll Tarly?”

  


Sam’s brows jumped, “You know him?”

  


Daenerys squeezed Sam’s hands, “Randyll Tarly committed treason against House Tyrell by declaring for Cersei when Lord Willas declared for me. He was given the choice to bend the knee and retain his lands and titles, go to the wall and take the black, or…execution,”

  


Sam’s lips parted, eyes wide, “M-My father sided with the Lannisters? B-but he’s always been a Targaryen loyalist,”

  


“He told me before Lord Tyrell executed him that he would rather serve a queen born on Westerosi soil than a…than a foreign whore,” Daenerys explained haltingly.

  


Samwell looked baffled, “You were born on Westerosi soil, and from what I’ve heard you’re doing a damned good job of learning about Westerosi customs, your Grace,”

  


Daenerys smiled softly, “Thank you, Sam,”

  


Sam looked panicked for a moment, “My brother, Dickon? Did – was he –

”

  


“Lord Willas refused to hold Lord Dickon accountable for your father’s actions. He was being a dutiful son by following Randyll. He is being held at Horn Hill by some Reachmen and Garlan Tyrell until the wars are over, then he will be named Lord of Horn Hill,” Daenerys explained gently, squeezing Sam’s hands once more before releasing them.

  


“Thank you, your grace. Not many rulers would be as lenient,” Sam mumbled, sounding relieved.

  


Daenerys smiled softly, “I’ll leave you to your reading, my lord. Thank you again,”

  


“No thanks necessary,” Sam insisted, smiling warmly at her and Ser Jorah both, “It was my genuine pleasure, your grace, Ser Jorah,”

  


***

  


Jon made his way to Sansa’s solar after he and Arya recounted where they’d been and what they had done. Jon’s stomach was a mess of tension; Arya had gone through the seven hells, but she had come out triumphant. She had also slaughtered the Frey’s responsible for massacring their family and northmen at the Red Wedding. She had looked furious when he slowly and haltingly recounted his death at the hands of his sworn brothers. She had looked ready to bolt north to the wall to kill them herself before he’d assuaged her fears.

  


Now Jon had to face a mutinous Sansa. Arya had warned him amidst an explanation as to what happened with Littlefinger that Sansa wasn’t happy. Arya understood, thankfully, but Sansa was wroth with him for giving up the northern crown. He knew why; she was of the mindset that bending the knee to a southern ruler mean being oppressed and shackled. Did Daenerys’ title of breaker of chains mean nothing to her? Dany didn’t shackle people; she broke their shackles.

  


Sighing, Jon opened the door and met Sansa’s cold blue gaze. She held up a scroll, “Lord Glover wishes us good fortune but he’s staying in Deepwood Motte with his men,” she recited, placing it down on her desk.

  


Jon tossed his gloves onto the table angrily, “‘ _House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years_ ,’” he recited Lord Glover’s words bitterly, shaking his head.

  


Sansa raised a sardonic brow, “I will stand behind Jon Snow, he said, the King in the North,” she snapped, rising to her feet. She walked over to a sideboard that held fresh parchment and ink.

  


Jon followed her, anger building in his gut, “We needed allies for the war coming right to our doorstep, Sansa. Without them, we have nothing,”

  


Sansa whirled on him, fury etched across her face, “I didn’t think you’d abandon your crown for it,”

  


Jon narrowed his eyes, “Do you not know how alliances work, Sansa? Daenerys couldn’t give me her forces, her food, her help, without me giving something back. That’s not how the world works. I didn’t bend the knee until she risked her life to save mine and my men! She almost lost a dragon to save my life, Sansa! She’s the Queen we need, that everyone needs,”

  


“A Targaryen Queen,” Sansa snarled icily.

  


Jon inhaled deeply, trying to stifle the burning anger rising in his stomach, “Family names do not matter. Who is King of where or Queen of what kingdoms doesn’t matter! What matters is having strong, able bodied men and women to fight what’s coming. Who says there will be an after? I have fought these creatures since I left home, Sansa. I’ve fought them, Tormund has fought them, Daenerys has fought them! Having an independent north wont matter if we’re all dead,”

  


Sansa’s jaw ticked, “Did you bend the knee because she’s a good queen or because you love her?”

  


Jon drew away from his sister – cousin – and stared at her in disbelief, “Do you think me so easily swayed by a pretty face, Sansa? Really? Do you have so little faith in me?”

  


Sansa looked away, “I’m not so sure anymore,”

  


Jon smiled darkly, sarcasm lining his face, “Daenerys put her goal of taking back her family’s throne to help us. She is putting her dragons, dragons she sees as her children, in danger, to help us. The only person at risk of losing everything now is her, Sansa. I hope you can remember that if we live,”

  


Sansa refused to meet his gaze, so Jon snatched up his gloves and stormed out.

  


***

  


Daenerys found Jon in the crypts staring at the statue of a woman. She linked her arm with his and leaned her head against his shoulder, staring at the solemn, sad statue before them, “Who was she?”

  


“Lyanna Stark,” Jon rasped lowly, making her hold him tighter. She loved his deep, northern accent.

  


Daenerys lifted her head and stared at Lyanna’s effigy, “Ser Barristan told me about my brother Rhaegar. He told me that Rhaegar was good and kind and just…but he took Lyanna, and he raped her,”

  


Jon looked down at her, sadness in his eyes, “He didn’t. Lyanna went willingly with Rhaegar, and they loved each other.” Daenerys stared at him, her heart light, “Dany, I have to tell you something; please listen until I’m finished,”

  


Daenerys nodded hesitantly, “Okay,”

  


“Lyanna didn’t want to marry Robert, so she ran away and married Rhaegar in a secret ceremony in Dorne. Nine moons later, they had a son.” Daenerys felt her eyes widen as Jon closed his, grief and anger warring on his handsome face, “A son she named Jaehaerys Targaryen. Soon after, her brother arrived, and she begged him to keep her son safe. Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister would have killed him, no matter what. So, Ned Stark kept his nephew safe by giving him a bastard name,”

  


Daenerys gasped softly, lips parting in her shock, “You,” she breathed, reaching up to cup Jon’s face. His eyes opened, and she smiled softly, “Are you okay?”

  


“Me?” Jon asked, bewildered, “Dany, I’m a trueborn son,”

  


“You’ve just had your whole world upended, Jon,” Daenerys argued, though she knew he was right. He had a better claim. But she had an idea that would nip any dissenters plans in the bud, “The man you thought your father your whole life lied to you,”

  


Jon turned and stared at Eddard Stark’s effigy, “Aye, but he also protected me, clothed me, and housed me. I might be angry that he never told me the truth, but I’m just…a part of me is relieved,”

  


Daenerys raised her brows, “Oh? Why?”

  


Jon turned and cupped her face in his gloved hands, his expression earnest and full of love, “Because it now means I can marry you without having high lords turning their noses up at a bastard grasping too high,”

  


Daenerys’ heart soared and she gripped Jon’s wrists to ground herself, “It doesn’t bother you that we’re aunt and nephew?”

  


Jon shook his head, “No. Starks intermarry all the time,”

  


Daenerys smiled widely until her cheeks hurt even as her eyes stung with unshed tears, “Yes, Jon. I’ll marry you,”

  


Jon grinned and scooped her into his arms, twirling her around happily. She laughed joyfully, humming when he placed her on her feet and kissed her.

  


Daenerys moaned as his tongue invaded her mouth, flicking against the roof of her mouth and sliding along her own tongue. She stepped closer, gripping his shoulders. She pulled away, eyes bright and lips swollen, “Come with me,”

  


“Where?” Jon asked breathlessly.

  


“I want to see if either Rhaegal or Viserion will chose you as their rider,” Daenerys said excitedly, beaming when Jon laughed and nodded.

  


Daenerys grasped his hand tightly and led him from the crypts. They rushed through the Courtyard and out the North gate to where the dragons had made their nest. They had to mount horses prepared for them by the Dothraki and ride over to the nest, both shooting each other smouldering glances.

  


Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion lumbered to their hind feet and forewing claws when they approached. Daenerys dismounted and strode confidently toward Drogon, who lowered his massive head for a pat. Jon approached a little more cautiously, eyeing Rhaegal and Viserion warily as they eyed him; he was already acquainted with Drogon, whom he had pet on Dragonstone. It had been one of the most terrifying and exhilarating moments of his life.

  


Now, he eyed Rhaegal and slowly reached out a hand. The emerald and bronze dragon moved closer and sniffed him before leaning his nose against his palm. Jon smiled widely, gently running his hand over the beautiful creature’s snout. He turned to look at Daenerys, but she was already mounted on Drogon’s back, who was staring at him with a vaguely impatient air.

  


“Go on,” Daenerys urged him, amusement brightening her entire being.

  


“I don’t know how to ride a dragon,” Jon refuted loudly.

  


Daenerys chuckled, “No one knows how to ride a dragon, until they ride a dragon,”

  


Jon sighed and walked up the side of Rhaegal, who lowered himself closer to the ground, so his barrel chest was brushing the charred earth. He gingerly climbed up his wing and swung a leg over. Rhaegal shifted, and Jon almost flew off the other side of him. He grunted and righted himself, wrapping his hands around two of the many spines decorating Rhaegal’s neck.

  


Jon shouted in both alarm and joy as Rhaegal pushed off the ground with powerful legs and a downward thrust of his leathern wings. The sound was like thunder rumbling across the sky. His stomach seemed to shoot through his arse and his heart from his mouth, but then he managed to pry open his eyes and, well, it was utterly magnificent.

  


Jon exhaled sharply, a smile stretching across his face as Rhaegal flew higher and higher in the sky. Then, as the emerald and bronze dragon began to level out, a niggling began at the back of Jon’s mind. Like the bond he shared with Ghost, his direwolf.

  


Jon exhaled slowly and allowed the niggling to become greater and open completely. His breath caught as the close to overwhelming power and heat of a dragon’s conscience entered his own. He felt Rhaegal’s elation at having a rider, his faint hunger, his happiness at being in the sky with his brothers, mother, and…father?

  


It was an otherworldly experience, riding a dragon. When he leaned left, Rhaegal dipped left, and when he leaned right, the dragon leaned right. He tried projecting his desires to the dragon, and Rhaegal loosed a roar and began to fly faster and harder. Above them, Drogon swooped from the clouds and overtook them, roaring in what sounded like triumph.

  


“C’mon, boy!” Jon shouted gleefully, the war all but vanishing from his mind. “Faster!”

  


Rhaegal roared in agreement and swooped downward to the treetops, then shot upward, wings all but folded against his sides. Jon whooped in exultation as they overtook Daenerys and Drogon. He then leaned left, and Rhaegal chirruped softly before beginning to land.

  


Daenerys and Drogon landed soon after as Jon slid off Rhaegal’s back and petted him happily. The emerald nudged him in the chest and chirruped softly, sharing his happiness and fondness.

  


“You’re a natural, Jon,” Daenerys said warmly, petting Rhaegal gently.

  


“You’ve completely ruined horses for me,” Jon complained jokingly, smile widening when Daenerys laughed and Rhaegal chuffed. 

  


Daenerys turned, her smile falling only to be replaced with wonder as she saw the frozen waterfall and snow covered hills surrounding them, “Its beautiful,” she whispered softly, “We could stay a thousand years and no one will find us,”

  


Jon reached out and drew her into his arms, “Aye, we’d be pretty old.” He smiled softly, “And it’s cold up here for a southern girl,”

  


“Then keep your soon to be wife warm, Jaehaerys Targaryen,” Daenerys murmured lowly. 

  


Jon’s breath caught when Daenerys uttered his true name, and he felt as though his heart had swelled thrice the size. He leaned forward and captured Dany's lips with his own, feeling as though, for now, all was right and good in the world.

  


***

  


By the time they passed the Neck and Moat Cailin, Jaime was prepared to hit Bronn with his gold hand. But he stifled the urge by sheer force of will and sighed. He ignored the irritating sellsword and entertained himself by conversing with Addam; they had sieged Riverrun together and the man had immediately agreed to follow Jaime to the end of the world.

  


Cersei was lost to Jaime, to everyone who ever knew her. She had killed over four hundred people in the Sept explosion. Their uncle Kevan, Aunt Dorna, cousin Lancel, Margaery, Loras, Mace Tyrell and hundreds more smallfolk and high lords and ladies.

  


Jaime had killed the Mad King for giving the order, and Cersei had gone through with it. He couldn’t bring himself to kill her. Abandoning her and her insane plans, however, had been a lot easier than he’d anticipated. Her alluding to ordering the Mountain to kill him hadn’t been a surprise. Nor had it shocked him when Cersei's handmaiden cornered him and told him she wasn’t pregnant. He’d paid the girl seven gold dragons before she’d fled the capitol.

  


Cersei had caused Tommen's death. Their sweet little boy, and then called him a traitor for loving his wife. 

  


Jaime felt his stomach rebel again and swallowed back the urge to vomit over the side of Honour, his horse. Valiantly, he managed to do so without incident.

  


Addam pulled his horse alongside him, “Jaime, are you okay?”

  


Jaime grunted, “I’m fine,”

  


“You’re really not,” Addam said dryly, “Ever since you learned that Cersei destroyed the Sept and Tommen died...Jaime, talk to me,”

  


Jaime pursed his lips stubbornly for a moment before answering, “You know the truth, about Cersei and I.” Addam nodded, no judgement in his expression. Only concern. Jaime continued, “She said Tommen was a traitor. All because he fell in love with his wife. Cersei...she’s not the same woman I knew,”

  


“Yes, she is,” Addam said softly. Jaime turned to stare at him, “Cersei has always been this way. You remember Melara Weatherspoon? Cersei pushed her into a well when we were six, Jaime. Cersei’s always been a monster in beautiful skin, but you loved her anyway,”

  


Jaime smiled bitterly, “Perhaps I am the stupidest Lannister,”

  


“No.” Addam sounded furious, “Gods, Jaime. Cersei has fucked with your head for over forty years. You’re not the stupidest Lannister, you’re not stupid at all. That woman is poison, Jaime, and you’ve finally seen that,”

  


Jaime closed his eyes, feeling almost mournful, “I think I have. You know, I was thinking to myself during the siege that the boy I was when knighted to the Kingsguard wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne. He became the Smiling Knight instead,”

  


Addam scoffed, “You’re far from being the Smiling Knight, Jaime. You lost your way, but you’re back on track. Bronn told me how you look at Brienne,”

  


Jaime sighed, “I admire her, is that a crime now?”

  


Addam sighed in annoyance, “No, Jaime, it’s not. Bronn thinks that you love her,”

  


Jaime wondered. Did he love Brienne of Tarth? She wasn’t overly beautiful, he knew that. But there was something oddly...beguiling about her that drew him in. She was honourable, stubborn, wilful, kind...and, well, she drove him mad with how adamantly she sticks to her vows. At the beginning of their journey together, Jaime had wanted to kill her constantly. But after he lost his hand to save her, and she gave him the strength to continue...shit.

  


Addam laughed loudly, head thrown back, “Oh, I recognise that look. That’s the look of a man who’s realised he’s in love,”

  


_Good gods, I’m in love with Brienne of Tarth._

  


***

  


Arya slipped through Winterfell like a ghost. It reminded her of her time in Harrenhal as the ghost of the charred, twisted ruin of a castle. But now she was using her...abilities to spy on her own family. Being home had been a balm to Arya's scarred heart and soul, yet Sansa’s coolness and icy disposition toward anyone and everyone around her made chills climb up and down Arya's spine.

  


Sansa had been taught her courtesies by mother and Septa Mordane, but her cold and icy words and expression were all Cersei and her scheming and plotting was all Littlefinger. Arya had overheard Lady Olenna speaking with her grandson and Lord of Highgarden Willas Tyrell about Sansa, and how Cersei and Littlefinger had clearly ruined such a sweet girl with such potential. Willas, too, had commented on how Sansa seemed so cold and hateful toward her allies.

  


So Arya went snooping. She already knew that Sansa had urged Robb to bend the knee to Joffrey. She knew they were extenuating circumstances. But why was Sansa so against Daenerys helping them? The Queen had done so had great risk to herself, her armies, and her dragons...if they even won the war against the dead.

  


Arya slipped into Sansa’s solar and climbed onto the top of the wardrobe. She settled in to wait, her breathing low and steady. She didn’t have to wait long until the door opened and Sansa entered followed by a man in ragged clothes.

  


“Lord Glover sends his regards, my lady.” Arya stiffened. Lord Glover had once again abandoned his vow due to a difference of opinion, “He did not trust to put his feelings on paper, so he sent me, my lady,”

  


“And what does Lord Glover wish for you to say?” Sansa asked, tone as cold as ever.

  


Arya listened intently as the messenger spoke, “Lord Glover and many others express their regret over naming Jon Snow King in the North. Lord Glover and Lord Cerwyn wish they named _you_ Queen in the North and want to make it happen,”

  


“And how do you suppose we do so when Daenerys Targaryen has three dragons, hundreds of thousands of men and women loyal to her and my brother wrapped around her finger?” Sansa demanded icily.

  


Smugness entered the messengers voice as he replied, “We let her destroy herself, your Grace. Separate her from her allies, destroy her relationship with your _half-brother_ Jon Snow...and it will all come tumbling down,”

  


Deafening silence reigned for several long, agonising heartbeats, then, “Your idea has merit.”

  


_No. No. Sansa, what are you doing? The lone wolf dies but the pack survives, sister._ “Lord Glover also reports that the Mountain Clans are heading for Winterfell,”

  


“I didn’t send a raven,” Sansa said in confusion.

  


“Nay, your Grace. The bastard and dragon whore flew there.”

  


“....Jon rode one of her dragons?”

  


“Aye.”

  


“Tell Lord Glover that the Iron Born are anchoring at Blazewater Bay. Tell him to ambush them. Hard. Leave Theon Greyjoy alive.” Sansa’s voice was as sharp as a whip and colder than ice, “Now leave me,”

  


Arya's heart was thundering in her chest.

  


“My queen.”

  


Arya remained silent and peered over the top of the cupboard. Sansa sat below her, and Arya’s sight was sharp enough that she could see what her sister was writing.

  


What she saw made bile rise in her throat.

  


_Cersei, the enemy of my enemy is my friend..._

***

  


When Winterfell finally came into view a week after they camped near Castle Cerwyn, Jaime wanted to weep in relief; they had been traveling for over a month. But the relief was short-lived when he, Bronn, and Addam entered the castle and were thrown into the cells by a coldly furious Sansa Stark.

  


“Good job, you golden cunt,” Bronn remarked, lounging against the wall.

  


“I thought we had been invited,” Addam said in confusion.

  


“You were.” The deep, angered tones of Jon Snow sounded.

  


Jaime squinted as the bastard of Winterfell stepped up to the cell and unlocked it. Next to him stood Daenerys Targaryen herself.

  


“Seems the redhead didn’t get the message,” Bronn snarked, rubbing his wrists.

  


Jaime and Daenerys hadn’t stopped their staring contest. She looked like Rhaella. It made him want to drop to his knees and weep.

  


_“Stop. Stop, you’re hurting me!”_

  


Jaime looked away and closed his eyes to gather himself for a moment. He turned back to meet Jon Snow and Daenerys' gaze, “Your graces,”

  


“I saw your men outside the gates, Ser Jaime. Where is your sister?” Daenerys asked firmly, but not unkindly.

  


“Cersei refused to send her forces, your Grace. But Addam swore himself and his twenty-eight thousand men to my service as Lord of Casterly Rock,” Jaime explained, grimacing as his voice cracked.

  


Daenerys turned to Addam, “I thank you, Ser. You may join your men. Grey Worm will show you where to set up camp,”

  


Addam bowed at the waist, “Thank you, your Grace,”

  


Bronn hastily followed Addam and the Unsullied guard from the cells. Jon Snow met Jaime’s eyes, “Come with us. We can speak in my solar,”

  


Jaime followed silently, absently nodding his thanks to the Unsullied that handed him Widow’s Wail – he really needed to rename his sword. Jon Snow and Daenerys led him out into the courtyard, where he was thrown hostile glances, then into the Keep proper and into a solar.

  


“Ale, Ser Jaime?” Snow asked, but Jaime shook his head, “Take a seat,”

  


Jaime sat down and ran his left hand nervously over his thigh, “Thank you, your Grace,”

  


“What were your sisters plans, Ser? Break her vow and remain in the capitol, hoping we all died?” Daenerys asked, brows furrowed.

  


“I believe so, your Grace. She planned to use the Tyrell gold to purchase the Golden Company after repaying the Iron Bank, but you ruined those plans. She’s...she’s mad.” Jaime rubbed a hand over his face.

  


Daenerys frowned slightly, “Why do you say that?”

  


Jaime sighed, “She blew up the Sept of Baelor with wildfire, killing members of our family and hundreds...when King Tommen saw that the Sept was destroyed with his wife and unborn child inside...he threw himself from a balcony,”

  


Snow looked disgusted, “Why would she do such a thing?”

  


Jaime laughed hollowly, “To get out of her trial of the Faith Militant. Revenge. Because it made her happy? I don’t know. When I mentioned Tommen's death, she said he was a traitor,”

  


“For loving his wife...a woman she hated,” Daenerys murmured.

  


Jaime stood and shifted so he stood before Daenerys, who looked startled, “Your Grace, as Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West I swear I will be your ally in this war...and if afterwards we live, I will bend the knee to you,”

  


Daenerys looked stunned, “Why?”

  


Jaime's throat tightened, “Because...because once I vowed to Rhaegar to protect his family. I vowed to protect Rhaenys, Aegon, and Elia...and I failed. Because Aerys –”

  


“Go on,” Daenerys urged gently.

  


“Because Aerys ordered his pyromancer to light the caches of wildfire he’d planted all over the city.” Daenerys and Jon both flinched, eyes wide with disbelief, “I had a choice. Obey my King, or save the innocent. I was a knight, a member of the Kingsguard...I chose what I believed was right,”

  


Daenerys looked disgusted, “You chose right, Ser Jaime. My father...was an evil man. He got what he deserved. Ser Barristan joined me in Meereen and told me of my family...of how my father hurt my mother...”

  


Jaime closed his eyes, “Rhaella...you look exactly like her, your Grace. She never deserved what happened to her,”

  


Daenerys nodded, her strength wrapped around her like armour even as her eyes glistened with tears, “You may join your men, Ser Jaime,”

  


Once Ser Jaime had left, Daenerys fell into Jon’s open arms and wept.

  


***

  


Preparations for the oncoming battle were underway. Men, women, and children hurried to and fro around Winterfell carrying supplies, baskets of furs and food and Missandei watched it all with a sense of helplessness. She approached Ser Davos, who was speaking with a young, dark haired man covered in soot.

  


“Ser Davos,” she greeted warmly.

  


“Ah, Missandei of Naath!” Ser Davos said warmly, “Are you well? Is there anything I can help you with?”

  


Missandei shook her head, “No, Ser, but I wish to help. Is there anything I can do?”

  


Ser Davos looked thoughtful, “Hm, I’m not sure. Perhaps Jon and Queen Daenerys have some idea?”

  


The young man shifted awkwardly, “Uh, Lady Missandei, if you want to help you can here, if you want?”

  


Missandei smiled at the man, “Of course. What is your name?”

  


“Gendry, m'lady,” he said hastily, bowing shortly.

  


Missandei shared an amused look with Ser Davos, “I’m not a lady, Gendry, just call me Missandei. How can I help?”

  


“Well, we blacksmiths need some fresh water for tempering the dragonglass blades. If you could get some from the well?” Gendry asked, a little flushed.

  


Missandei nodded firmly and picked up the empty wooden buckets Gendry pointed to. She made her way over to one of the handmaidens and asked where the well was, valiantly ignoring the distrusting look she received. She went to the well and pumped out water into the buckets, grunting as she hefted them.

  


Missandei enjoyed the menial tasks. It helped take her mind off of what was coming. After helping Gendry, she stopped yet another handmaiden and all but begged for some sort of task. The young woman looked relieved and began talking rapidly as she led Missandei to the kitchens.

  


“We’re short staffed,” the young girl, Elsie, explained, “Only three cooks. And with Queen Daenerys and her people coming we’re having some trouble. D'you know how to make bread?”

  


“Yes,” Missandei assured the harried girl, “My...former master ensured that all his women knew how to cook,”

  


Elsie looked ready to burst into tears, “I’m so sorry, m'lady, I never wanted to bring up bad memories!”

  


Missandei placed a hand on Elsie’s arm, “It’s all right, Elsie. I’m not offended. Just show me where to go and what to do,”

  


And so Missandei stood with the cooks and scullery maids and kneaded sticky, fluffy dough for hours. They pumped out hundreds of loaves of black bread and cooked ample amounts of nutritional stew for everyone in the castle. As they waited for the bread to bake and the dough to rise, the Cook, Alla, turned to Missandei.

  


“D'you speak Dothraki and Valyrian?” she asked, expression determined.

  


“Yes, I do. Do you wish to learn?” Missandei asked, scrubbing sticky dough from her fingers.

  


“Aye,” Alla grunted, stirring the large pot of stew, “If we’re to serve the Dothraki and Unsullied, we should be able to speak with ‘em. Can you teach me and my girls some basic things?”

  


Missandei smiled widely, “I’d be happy to, my lady,”

  


Alla snorted, “M'no lady, m'lady. Call me Alla,”

  


“Neither am I,” Missandei said, amused, “Call me Missandei,”

  


The rest of the afternoon continued in that vein. Missandei chopped vegetables for the stew or kneaded dough and prepped it for the ovens as she went through basic questions and words for the scullery maids and cooks so they could communicate with the Dothraki and Unsullied. The young girls were beyond excited, and even Alla looked proud of herself when she pronounced words perfectly.

  


As Missandei helped wash up, the door opened and Daenerys walked in with a warm smile. The girls and Alla all curtseyed demurely, “Please, don’t stop on my account,”

  


“y'Grace, can I get you anythin’?” Alla asked, hands fluttering a bit, “Your Missandei made perfect bread, and we have some strawberry preserves...”

  


Daenerys smiled widely, “I’d love to try some, thank you,”

  


Missandei beamed.

  


***

  


Grey Worm grunted as he shovelled the semi-soft ground. Already two trenches had been built, but they needed more. Jon Snow had been clear on the fact that the army they were facing weren’t normal, that they’d not be held back by even the Unsullied’s exceptional talent in warfare. Grey Worm believed him.

  


Jon Snow had not lied to his Queen since meeting her. Grey Worm had seen the undead man clammoring and snarling...that creature was not right. It was...wrong. A devil from the pits of _Nopāzma_ itself.

  


“Uhh, Ser Grey Worm?”

  


Grey Worm paused in his shovelling and turned to look at the young boy standing at the top of the trench, “Yes?” he called, not bothering to tell the boy that he was no Ser.

  


The boy shuffled his feet, “I bought you some stew,”

  


Grey Worm was surprised, but did not show it. Ever since he and his people had arrived, they had been looked at coldly and with disgust. But this little boy had more bravery than ten grown men, it seemed. So Grey Worm climbed from the trench and offered the boy a smile.

  


“Thank you,” he said, accepting the bowl of hearty, fragrant stew.

  


The boy smiled shyly, “The men are eating over there. They sent me to get you,”

  


Grey Worm followed the boys’ pointing figure and shoved his surprise down deeply when the North men waved him over amiably enough. Already a few of his fellow Unsullied, White Flea and Yellow Grub, sat with them. He nodded at the boy and made his way over.

  


One of the Northmen, a barrel-chested man who called himself ‘The Wull’ greeted him, “You work with the strength of a hundred men, The Ter-gon Nood-hah,”

  


Grey Worm appreciated the man’s attempt at saying his name in Valyrian, though he butchered the pronunciation. He nodded sharply, “Unsullied are taught so since boys,”

  


“Aye,” a hawkish man called ‘The Flint’ grunted, “Y’make us look like babes,”

  


Grey Worm felt his lips twitch at the joke. Missandei of Naath had taught him humour; the masters hadn’t. The masters had only taught them to kill on command. But Daenerys Jelmāzmo had freed them, “Not baby,” he said, lips curving, “Toddler,”

  


The Flint and Wull stared before guffawing loudly, slapping their knees in their mirth. White Flea and Yellow Grub both smiled a little hesitantly, but their stiff shoulders relaxed.

  


“You’re funny, Ter-gon Nood-ha,” The Wull said, grinning crookedly.

  


“Turgon Nudha,” Grey Worm corrected gently, placing his empty bowl on the floor.

  


The Flint nodded thoughtfully, “I don’t mean any offence...but why is your name ‘Grey Worm'?

  


“When boy is taken from mother to be Unsullied, they name taken from them,” White Flea began haltingly, his Common Tongue broken and stilted, “The day they cut, Masters give new name. Grey Worm, White Flea, Yellow Grub, Black Rat. It is name to remind Unsullied what they is – _zegh_ ,”

  


“Vermin,” Grey Worm translated, noting the looks of horror and disgust on the Wull and Flint's faces, “When these ones were bought and freed by Daenerys Stormborn, she tell us to take our own names. We keep names we had when freed – they lucky. They the names these ones had when made free men,” 

  


“The Dragon Queen is a good woman,” the Flint said, voice suspiciously thick.

  


The Wull motioned to the Dothraki using their horses to stamp over half frozen grounds, “And the Dothraki?”

  


“Our Queen killed the _Khals_ who rape and take lands that not theirs,” Grey Worm explained, “She become Khal of Khals, the Stallion who mounts World. She stop rape and taking. They take wives. No more hurting,”

  


The Wull stared, “Queen Daenerys stopped the Dothraki from raping?”

  


Grey Worm smiled sharply, “Any who rape burn,”

  


The Flint nodded slowly, “Yeah, that’d stop any man from raping,”

  


Grey Worm returned to shovelling. Perhaps these gruff, cold Northmen weren’t so bad.

  


***

  


Alla was a simple woman. She had been born to a whore and leather worker in Winter Town fifty years ago and had become a scullery made in Winterfell shortly before Roberts Rebellion. After ten and five years of being a scullery maid, she became the head cook at Lord Ned’s command. She respected Lord Ned. He had been a good, fair lord. She had never much liked Lady Catelyn though. That woman had seen all those below her as less than the dirt beneath her feet.

  


Alla knew the signs of a good leader. She had seen it in Lord Ned and Lord Robb. She saw it in King Jon, and she saw it in Queen Daenerys. The way the silver Queen befriended and freed slaves made Alla smile. The way she spoke with Lady Missandei as they ate black bread topped with strawberry preserves in the kitchens, gossiping and laughing made Alla's heart clench.

  


Daenerys Targaryen had been exiled from her homeland because of King Robert. That man had never impressed Alla. He had slept with most of her girls. Two of them had bastards in their bellies by the time the King had left. The girls hadn’t been able to say no to the fat man, because he was King. Robert had started a rebellion because ‘his’ Lady Lyanna had been taken by Prince Rhaegar and raped. He hadn’t been much better, Alla thought.

  


Looking at Daenerys, Alla knew the girl was strong and fierce. She rode a dragon like it was a kindly stallion. She commanded an army larger than the northern populace. She was a fierce woman, Alla knew that, but she was young. Merely four and twenty.

  


Alla couldn’t help but admire her.

  


Many of the other maids and servants felt the same. They admired this queen who had been born with nothing but a powerful name and collected more power as she grew. Sold to a Dothraki warlord, she left that terrible marriage with three dragons and a determination to make the world better. She had given up her quest to take back the Iron Throne to fight the only war that mattered.

  


Alla would kneel to this queen. She was kind, but firm and fair. She knew that her Lady Sansa didn’t like her. The handmaidens that attended the Lady said she often looked angry and coldly furious. Lady Sansa went through the seven hells, Alla knew that, but the Lady hadn’t been the only one to suffer.

  


Alla busied herself with grinding wheat into flour and zoned out on Daenerys and Missandei’s gossiping. The girls reminded Alla of her daughters. They giggled over Jon Snow and that one Unsullied man Alla had seen with Lady Missandei – Grey something. They were young women in love.

  


It warmed Alla's heart that they could find love in such dark times.

  


***

  


Harry Strickland watched as the Lion Queen’s benign expression faltered at his words. She was delusional and cruel, he knew that. But he was the leader of a sellsword company, and she had forked over barely enough coin to pay him and his men. She was clearly and openly unimpressed with how little her pathetic amount of gold had bought her. Word had it that she’d sold most of her expensive belongings to pay back the Iron Bank a quarter of the debt owed, and the rest she had given Harry for his men.

  


“Ten thousand,” she repeated coldly, “I ordered twenty thousand; two thousand cavalry, and twenty elephants,”

  


Harry bowed his head, “Unfortunately, your Grace, the gold you gave barely covers the ten thousand that came,”

  


The Queen’s poisonous green eyes flashed, “Of course, Captain. Your men have found comfortable accommodation, I hope?”

  


_Sure, you do._ “Yes, your Grace,”

  


“Good. You are dismissed,” the queen said, waving a hand.

  


Harry stifled the urge to laugh when the Queen cut her hand on the sword throne. Again. It had happened the last time he’d been summoned, too. She hissed and grasped the wound, shooting her creepy Maester a glare.

  


Harry fled the throne room and mounted his horse. He looked around the capitol and tried to breathe through his mouth. It had only gotten worse when word came that the Queen had barely enough food to feed them. Riots continued daily, and no matter how many provisions Harry and his men handed out to the desperate they continued.

  


Harry’s second in command, Calyn, was sitting in the only inn in Kings Landing with ale looking irritated. He sat across from him and ordered a cup of the overpriced, watered down ale.

  


“Queen’s as crazy as ever?” the man asked roughly.

  


Harry grunted, “Yes,”

  


“Why are we here, Harry?” Calyn demanded, “Cersei barely paid us, and she’s nuts. We should sail back to Essos before Daenerys Targaryen burns us all,”

  


Harry may work for the Golden Company, a group of Sellswords founded by the Blackfyre's, but even he knew that Daenerys Targaryen wasn’t like her forebears. He had heard stories of her from all over Essos. Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Mhysa. A good woman, from all accounts.

  


“She won’t,” Harry refuted quietly, “But perhaps you’re right. Cersei's mad, so’s her Maester. An old friend of mine, Daario, told me about Daenerys. They were lovers in Meereen for a while,”

  


Cayln's eyebrows rose, “And?”

  


“He’s regent of Dragon's Bay,” Harry whispered, all too aware that Cersei had spies everywhere. She was one hell of a paranoid bitch, “He said he’d happily die for her cause. Apparently, she was making plans to completely abolish slavery,”

  


Calyn scoffed, “The Triarch's won’t stand for that,”

  


“Neither will their city, under dragonfire,” Harry retorted, quaffing his ale heartily.

  


Calyn looked thoughtful, “Me ma was a pillow slave in Lys. I can stand behind the Breaker of Chains,”

  


Harry nodded and rose, tossing tossing a gold dragon to the innkeep. He made his way upstairs to sleep, ignoring the almost sick feeling in his stomach.

  


The next morning, Harry was roused from sleep by Artun, another of his men. He raced downstairs, barely dressed, and rode toward the red keep.

  


He arrived just in time to watch as Calyn was doused in green liquid and set alight.

  


Harry stared, stomach churning, as Cersei Lannister addressed the silent crowd.

  


_“This is what happens to traitors who speak of loyalty toward the foreign whore, the Dragon Queen!”_ She shouted maniacally, and Harry almost pissed himself when she met his gaze, _“I am your queen, and you shall obey!”_

The smallfolk rioted, bellowing insults and tossing animal and human excrement.

  


Harry wished he’d never taken the job


	2. A Knight of The Seven Kingdoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...this is a doozy, you're so welcome. Also, ya girl isn't a battle Commander so the war council part is me literally bullshitting everything lmfao. Enjoy. 
> 
> P.S: If any of you are Sansa fans, turn away now. I ain't kind to her at all. I've never liked her character

Jaime had found Brienne easily enough. She towered over everyone in Winterfell except the dozen or so giants that camped with the Wildlings. She even towered over him. He wondered what her legs – no, no, he couldn’t think like that. She was a high-born lady and deserved respect.

Jaime felt like the horse shit he’d stepped in earlier when Brienne became suspicious of his kind words. _Gods, did I truly treat her so badly and unkindly that she doesn’t think I care for her?_ It made him feel like the biggest shit in the Seven Kingdoms, truly.

Brienne's look of surprise and shock when he asked to fight with her in the coming battle was both exhilarating and saddening. She was one of the finest fighters in the world.

“It was good of you to keep your vow,” Brienne said quietly as she observed Pod and a young girl sparring.

“I made a promise to fight for the living. I intend to keep that promise,” Jaime said, shrugging as casually as possible. He turned to face her properly, “How is Lady Sansa?”

Brienne grimaced slightly, “She’s home, she’s safe...but she sees enemies everywhere.” Jaime felt his stomach clench. Gods, what the world had done to young maidens who deserved better. Brienne continued lowly, “She doesn’t like Queen Daenerys; she’s been nothing but rude and openly hostile toward her,”

Jaime frowned deeply. He was wary of Daenerys, too, especially after she recreated the Field of Fire with his troops on the Gold Road – but it was war. Tyrion had blown up Stannis’ fleet with wildfire at the Battle of Blackwater Bay; all’s fair in love and war, as the bards said. But other than that, Daenerys hadn’t shown any sign of madness. Ruthlessness, perhaps, but not the same insanity that gleamed in her father’s eyes. She was everything Queen Rhaella had been – gentle with a will of Valyrian Steel.

“What do you think of Daenerys?” Jaime asked Brienne, who looked a little startled.

Brienne adopted a thoughtful expression, “I think her Grace is...the Queen Westeros needs. She is just, fair but firm...she brought food for everyone. She’s been nothing but cordial and warm to everyone here,”

“That’s the impression I got too,” Jaime mumbled, looking up as the Dothraki digging trenches began to ululate loudly. Then he spotted the very Queen they had been talking about, walking with Jon Snow, “There’s nothing of her father in her,”

Understanding lit Brienne’s eyes, and she smiled softly, “I don’t think there is either,”

Daenerys and Snow came closer, both looking grave, “Ser Jaime, my Lady,”

Brienne jolted, “Your Grace,”

Jaime's lips quirked, “This is Brienne of Tarth, your Grace,”

Daenerys smiled warmly, her head tilted back in order to meet Brienne’s gaze, “You are magnificently tall, my lady. It’s no wonder you’re an adept soldier,”

Brienne's freckled cheeks went blotchy with embarrassment, “That’s kind of you, your Grace, thank you,”

Snow smiled crookedly, “There will be a war council after supper, Ser Jaime, Lady Brienne; Daenerys and I would like for you both to join us,”

“Of course,” Jaime said, nodding sharply, “Might Ser Addam join also, your Grace?”

“Indeed,” Daenerys said, a small smile on her face as those startlingly familiar violet eyes flickered from him to Brienne – he all but blanched when a glint of realisation entered them – before she and Snow took their leave with a few polite words.

Jaime shuddered as he remembered the undead man – or woman – scuttling toward him at the summit, “This enemy is going to be hard to kill. The last Long Night lasted a generation, the tales said,”

Brienne turned to face him, expression grave, “If we are all going to die, I will count it as an honour to die fighting with you, Ser Jaime,”

Jaime’s mouth went dry, “Me too, Brienne. Me too,”

***

After overseeing the digging outside the walls, Jon was in the courtyard running drills with those still not fully learned in the art of warfare with Jaime, Brienne, Pod, and the Hound when a horn sounded. His heart stopped for several moments as he waited for it to blast again, then again, but it never did. He exhaled a sigh of relief and moved toward the North gate, his mouth dropping open when several familiar men entered on horses foaming at the mouth.

Edd and the other remaining men of the nights watch spotted him. Jon dropped his practice sword and made his way over to his former brothers, grunting when someone slammed into him.

“My Little Crow!” Tormund shouted in his ear.

Jon laughed and hugged Tormund back, glad that his friend had survived, “Tormund, I’m glad you’re okay,”

Tormund gripped his shoulders and smiled, “Aye, me too, Little Crow,”

“Walls’ nothing but rivers, Jon,” Edd interrupted, pulling out of the embrace he and Sam had shared.

Jon winced, “How long do we have?”

“Until the sun sets in three days at the most,” Tormund announced gravely.

_Less time than we thought,_ Jon thought grimly, nodding at Tormund, “We have one last War Council tonight. You should be there as representative to the Free Folk. Did you happen to pass Last Hearth, we haven’t heard anything from Lord Umber?”

Beric Dondarrion looked grave, “Fighting for the dead now,” 

***

Daenerys’ entire body trembled as she slowly came down from her peak. She shifted, peering down her body and smiling as Jon lifted himself from between her thighs. He covered her body with his own, eyes as black as night.

Jon kissed her, and she moaned at her own taste mingling with his on his tongue. Daenerys gasped as he entered her, and Jon pinned her arms above her head; their fingers intertwined, Daenerys moaning as he set a fast, brutal pace.

_“Has it occurred to you that she might not have been a reliable source of information?”_

Daenerys had never begged for anything in her life, but as Jon made love to her, their bodies intertwined, she begged the gods to allow her womb to quicken. She begged Jon to be right about Mirri Maz Durr lying to her about the curse on her womb. 

_Please. Please let us further our family. Let us have children. I have never begged you for anything; please let me have this one happiness._

Once they had finished, Daenerys propped herself on her elbow beside Jon and gently traced the scars on his chest. He watched her with a soft, open expression that made her feel as though tiny dragons were rioting in her stomach.

“To think that I was almost kept from ever meeting you,” she breathed, heart in her throat. She splayed her hand over the scar over his heart.

“I’m here, Dany, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise you that,” he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to her messy hair.

Daenerys looked up at Jon, Jaehaerys, and smiled sadly, “It’s been merely a year since we met, my love, but I feel as though I’ve loved you my entire life,”

“I feel the same,” Jaehaerys rasped thickly.

“All my life I’ve known one goal: The Iron Throne. Viserys drilled it into me that we had to take it back and wreak vengeance on those who disposed our family.” Daenerys sat up, shifting to face Jaehaerys, “But all I ever wanted was home. The house in Braavos with the red door, yellow walls, and the lemon tree outside my window. But now...”

Jaehaerys hummed softly, placing his warm hand on her thigh, “Now?”

Daenerys felt tears well in her eyes, “Now I realise that home is not a place. It’s not a house with a red door, nor is it the Throne my ancestor forged from the swords of his enemies...it’s you, Jaehaerys Targaryen. You are my home, and I’ve been searching for you my entire life,”

Jaehaerys sat up and drew her into his arms, “I love you, Dany. So much.” She held him tightly as he inhaled shakily, “Ever since I was a little boy with a bastards name...I wanted to belong. But I never did, not truly, in Winterfell, or at the Wall. But I belong here, with you, in your arms,”

Daenerys pulled back and looked into Jon's dark eyes, “Together, we will make the world a better place for little girls searching for home and bastard boys wanting to belong,”

“Together,” Jaehaerys vowed softly.

Daenerys and Jaehaerys lay there for several more moments before they both reluctantly got out of bed and dressed for the war council. Missandei came in to help Daenerys with her braids, and Jaehaerys smiled at the two friends.

“I’ll meet you at the council,” her love told her, tilting her face up with a finger on her chin to kiss her firmly.

“You will,” she murmured, watching as he walked out the door.

“It brings me joy to see you happy, your Grace,” Missandei said, squeezing her shoulder.

Daenerys smiled softly, “I am happy,”

***

In the War Council room stood several people of note: Daenerys, Jon, Bran, Ser Jaime, Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, Grey Worm, Qhono, Bronze Yohn Royce, Olenna Tyrell and the Commander of her forces, Ser Abel Ambrose, Ser Addam Marbrand of the Lannister forces, Doran Martell and his sons, and his Commander Areo Hotah. Sansa had insisted she be there, too, even though she wasn’t a Commander and couldn’t fight. 

“The enemy doesn’t tire or hunger, so they’ll keep coming at us no matter what. The Unsullied, Northmen, and Dothraki have dug half a dozen trenches on the moors that will be filled with dragonglass spikes and burning intermittently,” Jon explained, pointing to the map.

“A cavalry charge will be useless, then, no?” Doran Martell mused, eyeing Qhono.

Missandei translated swiftly, and Qhono answered gutturally, looking offended. Daenerys responded to his words sharply and in clipped Dothraki. The man calmed, looking pensive before replying.

“A pincer movement could work, if the Knights of the Vale and the Dothraki wait on the east and western sides of the castle,” Bronze Yohn grunted, brows furrowed deeply.

“Jon Snow say that the dead won’t break against Unsullied shield wall?” Grey Worm queried, glancing at Jon, who nodded.

“They’ll swarm over the top of you,” Jon said, expression grim and eyes far away.

Daenerys looked contemplative, “I read that Winterfell is a castle built for siege?”

Ser Jaime nodded, “Yes, that would be our best bet. It’s a large, strong castle. If we throw pitch over the walls as the dead approach, your Grace and Jon can set it alight with the dragons,”

“Archers on the walls with lit, steel arrows can help. Dragonglass would be wasted on the archers. What about using the trebuchets with dragonglass and pitch inside leather lit on fire? Upon contact they’d explode – more damage,” Ser Abel said.

Jon nodded, looking appreciative, “That could work,”

“Jon and I will be on Drogon and Rhaegal.” Daenerys moved the dragon pieces closer to Winterfell, “Hitting the horde from the air. Viserion I can tell to stay on the walls, guarding the North gate. A small group of Unsullied can be on the inside,”

“We have spikes all over the moors with dragonglass in them,” Jon stated, “Enough weapons of dragonglass for the troops,”

“So, the Dothraki and Vale Knights will pincer the hoard and Dany and I will blast them with fire,” Jon said, thinking of how Ramsay Snow’s force had surrounded he and his men, “Archers on the wall with barrels of pitch. Where do we put those, who can’t fight?”

“I’d say the crypts, but they’re full of the dead,” Bran murmured from where he sat by the hearth. He looked at Jon, “The Great Hall. Perhaps a small force of Unsullied can guard it,”

Grey Worm nodded, “It will be done,”

“What does the Night King want?” Missandei asked quietly, staring at the map of Winterfell.

“Revenge.” Bran sounded grave as he spoke, and he commandeered the attention of everyone in the room, “While I was training under Bloodraven, he showed me how the Night King was created; the Children of the Forest were being hunted and slaughtered by the First Men, so they created a being unbeatable by them. But they never accounted for the Great Other: a being of pure malevolence that could cut their weak control over the Night King. The Great Other then gave the Night King unimaginable power,”

“What does the Great Other want?” Daenerys asked.

Bran’s lips twitched, “To end all life. To cover this world in nothing but death and ice and hate. As it has done to other worlds before,”

“Other worlds?” Sansa asked sharply, her eyes narrowed.

Bran met her sceptical gaze unwaveringly, “Yes. The Great Other was once a God...or something like that. But it was twisted into what it is now. It moves from world to world, laying waste to everything in its path,”

“We’re all going to die,” Tormund announced, “But at least we'll die together,”

As the council dispersed shortly after, Jon and Daenerys were asked to remain behind by Bran. The crippled young man eyed Sansa as she paused by the door uncertainly, a calculating glint in her eyes before she exited properly.

“What is it, Bran?” Jon asked, brows furrowed.

“Don’t trust Sansa,” Bran said quietly, his expression grave. Jon stared, bewildered, “She’s not the girl you once knew, Jon; if you tell her the truth about you, she’ll see it as a way to destroy Daenerys,”

Daenerys’ jaw worked as she thought of what to say, “What have you seen?” she’d been baffled when Jon explained what Bran had become under the tutelage of Bloodraven beyond the wall, but she knew her family had those who experienced ‘dragon dreams.’

Bran's eyelids fluttered, a sad expression settling on his face, “Many things, your Grace. Sansa wanted Rickon and Jon to die in the Battle of the Bastards so she could be Queen of the North.” Jon snagged back, as though dealt a physical blow, “She waited to send the Knights of the Vale in until Jon had fallen – but he hadn’t,”

“She didn’t tell me about the Knights before the battle,” Jon breathed, looking betrayed, “She let me go into a battle outnumbered,”

Bran looked as betrayed as Jon felt, “She had Littlefinger killed so he would not betray her secrets,”

Daenerys laid a hand on Jon's arm in comfort, “What secrets?”

“Sansa chose to marry Ramsay,” Bran said quietly, “She made that choice, and even when she realised what he was, what he did to Theon, she chose to go through with the marriage. Only afterward, when Ramsay hurt her, did she regret it. But throughout her time as Lady Bolton, she plotted and planned and schemed to become Queen. She knew she had to get to the wall, to convince Jon to help her defeat Ramsay,”

Jon ran a hand down his face, “What else?”

Bran closed his eyes before opening them and glancing to the shadowed corner of the room. Daenerys and Jon both jumped as Arya materialized, her expression cold and fierce, “Show them,”

Arya held out a raven scroll to Jon, who took it with trembling fingers, and read it aloud, “‘ _Cersei, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I will ferry information to you of the Dragon Whore’s plans for her war against you once the dead are defeated if they’re even real. In return, I want the North’s independence when the Targaryen bitch and my bastard brother are dead. I will be Queen of the north, from the wall to the neck, and you can keep the southern six kingdoms. Refuse, and Myrcella won’t see her next name day. Sansa Stark, Queen of the North._ ’” 

Daenerys looked stunned, but Jon himself looked as though his entire world had crumbled to ashes. She stepped forward, taking his hand in hers, “Jon...?”

“She –” Jon’s voice cracked, and he shook his head.

Arya spoke up, “I overheard a conversation between Sansa and a messenger from Lord Glover. Lord Glover and Cerwyn are behind her. She’s going to besiege the Iron Born at Blazewater Bay,”

Jon ran a hand over his mouth, “We have to stop them,”

Arya looked torn, “Sansa is our sister, but she has betrayed us to our enemy. She has betrayed Queen Daenerys. I will stand with you, Jon; I promise,”

***

The scouts returned before dawn to inform Lord’s Glover and Cerwyn that the Iron Born had begun to sail up the Saltspear to Barrowtown and Goldgrass. From there, they’d ride to Winterfell.

Robett Glover and Andre Cerwyn planned to pin them in from the west and north. Lady Barbrey Dustin agreed and offered up her five and a half thousand men to assist them from the east and south. She hated the Stark’s due to the late Eddard Stark leaving her husband’s bones in Dorne, and Brandon Stark for riding off to Kings Landing and getting himself killed.

Robett, Andre and the Dustin Commander Lewys had finished preparing their men when the dragons came. There was no warning, thanks to the heavy cover of clouds. One moment they sat atop their horses, the next the world was full of fire and death.

The three large, furious dragons fell upon them breathing fire and roaring their anger. Robett saw the pale speck upon the largest beast and cursed – then he saw the darker speck on the green and felt the blood drain from his face.

The battle wasn’t a battle at all. It was a massacre of Glover, Cerwyn and Dustin men. Somehow, Robett survived to be dragged from his horse by an Ironborn scum. He was dragged through muck, blood, and ashes and thrown at Jon Snow's feet. The man looked furious, dark eyes blazing. Behind him, the emerald and bronze dragon roared.

“So,” Jon Snow stated simply, “You’re now a traitor. You know what the sentence is for traitors?”

Robett spat at the bastard’s feet, “Let your whore Queen burn me, bastard. Prove the northern lords right that she’s as mad as her father and brother,” 

Jon Snow smiled, and it sent chills down Robett's spine, “We’re in the North, Lord Glover. The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. I’ll enjoy taking your treacherous head,”

“ _Get off me you savage beast! Release me! I am Lady Dustin of Barrowtown!”_

Robett closed his eyes as the shrieking harridan was thrown down next to him by one of the Dothraki savages. The man looked bored as he joined Jon Snow; then the black and red beast landed next to the emerald, and the whore herself dismounted and approached.

The ululating of the Dothraki screamers reached Robett's ears, the screaming and dying of his men. He glared, “You know who’s behind this rebellion, don’t you, bastard?”

The dragon whore smiled a wintery smile, “Sansa Stark is imprisoned. She will never be Queen in the North,”

“Barbrey Dustin.” Snow turned to the woman. She glared defiantly at him, her lip curled, “For your crimes against Houses Stark and Targaryen, I, Jaehaerys Targaryen, son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, sentence you to death,”

Robett stared, jaw hanging open. Did the boy...just say he was the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar? A Targaryen?

Barbrey was in a similar state of shock, but the silver whore merely smiled coldly. The Dothraki savage grabbed Barbrey's arms and yanked them behind her back, ensuring her neck was extended. Robett looked away as the bastard – no, he was a Targaryen. Trueborn. – brought his Valyrian Steel sword down in Barbrey's neck, smoothly decapitating her.

“Give her to Rhaegal,” the secret dragon told the Dothraki savage, and the savage complied. The man turned to him, “Any last words, Glover?”

“What will happen to my wife and children?” he found himself asking, suddenly terrified.

“Your son will become Lord Glover when he’s of an age.” The dragon whore smiled coldly, “He will foster with Arya and Bran Stark at Winterfell while his mother acts as castellan. She was unaware of your treachery,”

Robett grunted as the savage grabbed his arms. He ignored Jon Snow’s decree, too busy praying for mercy from the Old Gods.

A cold kiss of steel, then nothing.

***

Jon and Daenerys stood at the docks of Goldgrass as the Ironborn long ships were rowed into docking. Yara Greyjoy eyed them and their sooty clothes and faces with raised brows.

“Dissenters,” Daenerys said simply, clasping the woman’s forearm, “Thank you for coming,”

Yara nodded sharply, “We swore to help you, your Grace,”

Theon strode toward them, looking a little less terrified of his own shadow, “Your Grace, Jon,”

“Theon,” Jon greeted, “We need to tell you something,”

“What is it?” Theon asked, brows furrowed.

“Sansa Stark has been arrested for conspiracy to commit treason,” Daenerys said as gently as possible, grimacing when Theon’s eyes widened, “She was discovered writing to Cersei Lannister, promising to share our plans for the battle against her once the dead were dealt with,”

Theon looked gutted, “What will you do with her?”

Daenerys and Jon shared a long look, “She’s going to be sent to live with the Dosh Khaleen, the Dothraki Wise Women, in Vaes Dothrak after the war,”

Theon looked torn, but reluctantly nodded. He remained silent and strode away toward the ships. Yara met Daenerys and Jon's gazes, “What do you need us to do?”

“Hold Barrowtown,” Daenerys said, “We might need to retreat from Winterfell if our battle plans fail,”

“Aye, we can do that,” Yara said easily, a smirk on her face, “Though the smallfolk mightn’t like it,”

Daenerys rolled her eyes, “They’ll have to live with it,”

***

Brienne was torn, but the evidence of Sansa Stark's treason was glaring. Arya and Bran had showed it to her, and she was consequently removed as Sansa's sworn shield and sworn in as Bran's. The young man had looked sympathetic as she knelt and spoke the words but accepted them with an earnest note in his voice. His friend Meera Reed looked solemn, also.

Arya Stark looked ready to breathe fire like the Queen's dragons as they supped together, her grey eyes flinty, “Sansa has become an amalgamation of Littlefinger and Cersei. It makes me sick,”

Bran hummed around a mouthful of stew, swallowing before replying, “Sansa went through the seven hells themselves, and it...twisted her in a way. Made her believe that being the ultimate power is the only way she will be protected,”

“As pretty a dream as northern independence is it’s not viable,” Meera muttered, poking at her soggy carrots, “The War of the Five Kings depleted the population and granaries. The North will have to rely on the southern kingdoms and Essos for trade,”

Arya grunted, looking put out, “Now I’m Lady Stark because Bran can’t have children. Gods be good,”

Bran looked embarrassed, “Arya, please,”

Brienne cracked a smile despite her sadness. Arya smirked at Bran and Meera, “What? Embarrassed to talk about it in front of your lady love?”

Meera and Bran went red and shared a weighty look before Meera cleared her throat and looked away. Bran spoke up, “We don’t actually know if I can’t have children,”

Arya's brows rose, “So it still works?”

Now it was Brienne's turn to flush as Bran and Meera exclaimed in embarrassment and shock. Gods, these Stark children would be the death of her.

Bran the smiled deviously at his older sister, “What about your blacksmith?”

Arya’s eyes widened, “I told you not to use your freaky raven all seeing eye to spy on me!”

Bran _cackled,_ “I didn’t have to, sweet sister, you spend all your free time in the forge,”

Meera snickered, “And you gaze at him all moony eyed,”

“I’m not as bad as Brienne and the Kingslayer!” Arya cried.

Brienne stiffened, “His name is Jaime.” Then she realised what Arya had said and sputtered, “Wha – I don’t – he doesn’t –”

Arya threw her head back and laughed, “Oh, yes, you do! And he does, too!”

Brienne flushed, “Stop it,”

“Why don’t you tell him how you feel?” Arya asked, brows furrowed.

Brienne glared flatly at her, “Have you seen me?”

Arya scowled, “Yes. You’re an amazing warrior and honourable, kind and fierce. What’s not to like?”

Brienne leaned back in her chair, watching as Bran, Meera, and Arya continued to tease one another over their supper. Could she tell Jaime how she felt? He was a good man, honourable. But did he feel the same?

***

Sansa paced her rooms with jerky movements. She had been tossed inside by Jon the day before, and no one had come to see her but a scullery maid from the kitchen with food. Her door was being guarded by two large, fierce looking Dothraki savages that didn’t speak a lick of the Common Tongue. A cunning move made by the dragon bitch and the bastard; it meant Sansa couldn’t coerce them into letting her free.

Sansa’s plans lay dead and crumbled at her feet. She had been planning since before she married Ramsay. Petyr's scheming had been all for naught. They had both known the monster the Bastard of Bolton had been but had thought he wouldn’t hurt her; not the woman making his claim to the North legitimate. Now she held the scars of his cruelty. Using Jon and his sense of honour and duty to the Stark’s had been easy: he was a foolish as Robb and Father had been.

For years Sansa had been used, abused, and treated horribly. She didn’t deserve to any longer. Petyr and her plan should have worked; destroy the Bolton's, take back Winterfell and become Queen and King of the North, Vale, and Riverlands. Unfortunately, Rickon and Jon had to die, because the Northern Lords would apparently crown a trueborn son and bastard before a trueborn daughter. She hated how they had done that; it had been her and Petyr who saved the North with the Knights of the Vale. It had been she and Petyr who brought the Vale into the fold by killing Lysa Arryn.

Sansa continued pacing. Her plans had gone further south when Arya showed up alive and suspicious after so many years of her being thought dead. Then the snooping and questions had begun, and Petyr had to die lest he divulge their plans and secrets to all and sundry. She’d played Arya and Bran well enough. Bran’s inability to father children had worked in her favour; the northern lords wouldn’t accept an infertile King.

But then the Dragon whore had written Jon, _the King in the North,_ and he’d flounced off to Dragonstone spouting rubbish about an army of dead men and white walkers. Sansa wasn’t sure she still believed it; they had been legends for over eight thousand years. Perhaps it was an army of wildings? More savage and inhuman than those already in Winterfell.

_Jon desecrates the halls of our forefathers with wildlings, Targaryen’s, savages, Lannisters, and eunuchs,_ Sansa thought bitterly, _and still he is thought of as a king. Lyanna Mormont is stalwart in her belief of him, as is Manderly, Umber and Karstark. I should have insisted that Karhold and Last Hearth be torn down to rubble. Instead, he gave Alys Karstark and Ned Umber amnesty. He is weak. Men are weak creatures, swayed by pretty faces._

When Sansa had seen the dragon bitch’s army and dragons, she had felt an icy fury envelop her. When Jon called her _queen,_ she wished Lady were still around to tear the silver haired whore's throat out. _Honour got father killed, kindness saw me imprisoned by Cersei and beaten by Joffrey, loving a foreign whore saw Robb murdered. Hubris kept Robb from trading the Kingslayer for me._ The same Kingslayer that sauntered through her halls. The same Kingslayer her former sworn shield, the blonde beast, lusted for.

Sansa snarled wordlessly, fury making her hands shake. The bastard and whore had flown off on their beasts, most likely to burn her allies. She had no one now. She was trapped in her rooms with no way out.

Sansa turned and shoved everything off her dresser, screaming in inarticulate rage.

***

Daenerys and Jon returned to Winterfell several hours after destroying the traitors. Barbrey Dustin, Andre Cerwyn and Robett Glover's heads would adorn the gate of Winterfell; a warning to those who thought to rebel. Now they had to meet with her allies and tell them the truth of Jon’s parentage and announce their plans to marry. They would do so in the Godswood and later in a Sept in Kings Landing once they took their throne.

Olenna, Willas, Doran, Quentyn, Trystayne, Ellaria, the Sand Snakes, Myrcella, Tyrion, Varys, Ser Davos, Samwell Tarly, Bran, Arya, Tormund, Jon and Daenerys gathered in a room thoroughly guarded and checked for eavesdroppers.

“So, Sansa was planning a rebellion?” Olenna asked, looking unimpressed.

“Aye,” Jon grunted, “She’s to be imprisoned until after the wars then sent to Vaes Dothrak to live out her days with the Dosh Khaleen,”

Olenna nodded in approval, “Good. The girls’ the worst of her lessons with Cersei and Littlefinger,”

“That’s not why we’re here,” Daenerys announced, looking at each of her allies sternly, “Information has come to light that, in the wrong hands, could be detrimental to my goals after the Great War,”

Doran’s lips quirked, “So you have learned the truth, then?”

Jon stared, “You know?”

“Yes,” Doran said softly, an old grief dulling the light in his eyes, “My sister Elia told me everything. My brother Oberyn did not know – he would not have listened if he had, and I knew this,”

“What are you blithering on about?” Olenna demanded sharply.

Daenerys slid her hand into Jon’s as he sighed, “Ned Stark lied to everyone to keep me safe. I was never his bastard son. I’m the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, Jaehaerys Targaryen,”

Silence reigned for several long moments before Doran spoke up, “Elia never told me the name they chose. Merely told me that her and Rhaegar's wife Lyanna was pregnant,”

One of the Sand Snakes, Obara Daenerys though, looked stunned, “Aunt Elia approved?”

“Oh, yes,” Doran said, smiling faintly, “Elia loved Lyanna as much as Rhaegar. And Lyanna loved them both greatly, too,”

“Why not tell people, then?” Willas asked incredulously, “The rebellion would never had happened,”

“Yes,” Bran stated simply, “It would have. Lyanna sent ravens to Brandon, Rickard and Robert. Robert dismissed it, believing she had been forced into writing it. Brandon and Rickard believed Lyanna at first, but Robert convinced them she had been taken. Brandon then rode for Kings Landing, demanding Rhaegar's punishment,”

“I can wager a guess why Lyanna didn’t want to marry Robert,” Tyrion uttered.

“He tried to force himself on her at the Tourney of Harrenhal, but she broke his nose,” Bran explained, lips quirking in amusement at the thought of the Fat King being bested by a woman, “After that, she knew he wasn’t the kind of man she wanted to marry. After Rhaegar discovered she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree, he named her Queen of Love and Beauty; Lyanna was mortified and found Elia,”

Doran chuckled, “Elia told me how Lyanna prostrated herself and begged forgiveness. When Rhaegar entered their rooms, the she-wolf nearly smacked him until he and Elia explained,”

“You don’t care?” Jon – Jaehaerys – asked in bewilderment.

“We are more liberal in Dorne,” Ellaria Sand said dryly, a small smile on her face.

Doran raised a brow at Jaehaerys, “If Rhaegar had won on the trident, you would have grown up calling me uncle, Jaehaerys,”

Jaehaerys looked overwhelmed by emotion, so Daenerys spoke for him, “Jaehaerys has asked me to marry him,”

“Oh, good. I was going to suggest that,” Varys murmured, powdered hands clasped together.

Tyrion smirked, “Gods, I wish Robert were here to see this. He’d have probably keeled over dead,”

Jaehaerys’ jaw clenched, “Probably a good thing he’s not, I’d have done worse than the boar did,”

Daenerys smirked and addressed her council, “This information doesn’t leave this room. If it does, I will know it was one of you. And you won’t like the consequences,”

“Fire and Blood,” Olenna mused, smirking.

Arya was staring at Jon with wide eyes, and he walked over to her and conversed softly. Daenerys’ heart lightened when she threw her arms around him in a hug; she knew they were the closest out of all their siblings, and the news that Jon wasn’t her brother would probably hurt Arya.

A hand gripped Daenerys', and she looked down at Bran with a bemused frown in he said, “Welcome to the pack, sister,”

Daenerys swallowed back the urge to cry. 

***

Jon sat before the Heart Tree in the Godswood with Daenerys beside him. They’d excused themselves after the meeting with their allies for a little peace and quiet. He stiffened as the trees rustled, and a familiar face padded toward him.

“Ghost,” he said, smiling, “Where the hells have you been?” Ghost laid down and planted his head on Jon's lap, scarlet eyes on Daenerys, “This is Daenerys,”

Ghost’s nostrils quivered as he leaned closer to her and sniffed her. He huffed, eyeing her intently until she smiled and buried a hand in the soft fur at his neck. The wolf grunted happily and closed his eyes.

“He’s beautiful,” she murmured softly, scratching behind the horse-sized wolfs ears.

Jon smiled, running a gloved hand down his spine, “Aye, he’s been the most loyal friend,”

Daenerys turned to face him, but her eyes caught on something and widened. Jon whirled, hand flying to Longclaw, but froze when a somewhat familiar creature’s eyes met his, gold and dark grey.

“Nymeria?” he asked faintly. The wolf chuffed, as if in affirmation, and padded closer, “Gods, you’re huge, girl,”

Nymeria tipped her head back and _howled_ , Ghost joining in shortly after. Jon and Daenerys watched as the trees surrounding them rustled and more and more wolves stepped into the clearing; normal wolves and direwolves both.

“Nymeria?” a shaky voice asked, and Arya darted forward fearlessly toward her wolf, dropping to her knees before the brown and white beast.

Nymeria whined softly, leaning her large head against Arya's shoulder. Jon smiled, pulling Daenerys into his arms. She settled against him, “Is that her wolf?”

“Aye,” Jon replied softly, pressing a kiss to her temple, “She had to chase her off to protect her from Joffrey and Cersei,”

“Well, like her human she’s found her way home,” Daenerys murmured.

Jon watched as Arya embraced Nymeria and smiled, warmth suffusing his heart. Aye, they’d both found their way home.

***

Cersei could almost pretend that the man between her thighs was he’d soulmate, her twin, her Jaime before he had been crippled and _changed._ But it wasn’t, no matter how hard she pretended. It was Euron Crow's eye. He was good with his tongue, though, which was a bonus.

Moaning as she peaked, Cersei wrenched at the one-eyed pirate and stifled the urge to grimace. The sentencing of several criminals had gotten their blood up, especially when they remembered the criminals’ screams.

The rioting had continued no matter how many of the peasants were punished. Some had even boldly attacked the goldcloaks guarding the gates of the city, fleeing from her wrath.

Euron entered her roughly and thrust like a mongrel dog. She moaned and cried out appropriately, but he was hopeless at fucking. It seemed that the Ironborn were too used to their saltwives, about taking, that they never learned to give.

He finished and rolled off her five minutes later, looking smug and pleased with himself. Cersei schooled her expression into one of pleasured rapture, chest heaving. He smirked at her as he pulled his breeches and tunic on.

“Was I better than your Golden twin?” He asked.

Cersei stood and pulled on her robe, movements jerky, “You do like putting your tongue on the line, don’t you?”

Euron smirked fiercely, “What about the Fat King?”

“You dare to speak ill of my dearly departed husband?” Cersei demanded, a smirk curving her lips, “For the number of whores he had, he never figured out the way around a woman’s body,”

Cersei took a seat at the table next to her hearth. It had been tended to by the servants. The snow had begun days ago, and it made her nervous. It hadn’t snowed in the capitol for over a century.

Euron slid a hand over her stomach, “I’m going to put a Prince in your belly,”

Cersei smiled falsely and sipped at her cup of wine, “I do hope so. Now, go and do your duty, my love,”

Euron grinned, pressing his lips against hers hard and wetly. Cersei swallowed bile and smiled sweetly as he turned and exited her rooms. She wiped her mouth once the door closed and pulled a face, smirking when she thought about how a prince was already in her belly; hers and Jaime’s.

Maggy the Frog had been wrong.

“Was I?” a horrible, croaking voice asked.

Ceraei stood, wine spilling across the floor like blood, and whirled to see the hideous woods witch standing by the balcony. Her back was hunched, her jowls saggy and yellow eyes gleaming.

“What – this isn’t – this isn’t possible,” Cersei stammered, breath hitching.

Yellow eyes gleamed, “Isn’t it?”

Cersei glared at the shade, heart thundering, “You lied! The prophesy wasn’t real! You’re a fraud!”

Maggy's voice took on a sing-song quality, “ _Queen you shall be...until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear,”_

Cersei couldn’t control herself. The words tumbled from her throat as if wrenched out of her by the gods themselves, “ _If she tries, I’ll have my brother kill her. Will the King and I have children?”_

Maggy tipped her head back and cackled, “ _Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him and three for you,”_

Cersei began hyperventilating, her heart thundering impossibly fast.

“ _Gold shall be their crowns, and gold their shrouds_ ,” Maggy hissed, rushing toward her with gnarled, claw-like hands outstretched, “ _And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you,”_

Cersei shrieked, turning away from the approaching witch, “No, no, no! Melara, come away! Away, come away. Melara! Mother! Mother, stop her. Help me, _help me, mother!”_

Suddenly, the Frog was gone and Jaime stood in her place. He had no hand, unlike in her more pleasant dreams. Next to him stood the little beast, a triumphant gleam in his mismatched eyes. Cersei stumbled away, her eyes wide as the dragon whore and the Stark bastard also appeared.

“I chose the dragon queen. She is more beautiful.” Jaime smirked that cocky smirk she had once adored. _How could I have ever have loved that wretched creature?_ She wondered as he took the whore’s hand and kissed it. _He was your twin, your shadow, your other half,_ another voice whispered.

“You’re not real,” Cersei screamed, “I hate you; I hate you; I hate you! You’re with that blonde beast, aren’t you? I’ll kill her, I’ll slaughter them all. Raze the North from the neck to the wall!”

_All of them will burn,_ she thought as she stumbled into the bathing room, hands cradling her stomach protectively, _they will die and burn, every one, with all their plots and schemes and betrayals. It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom. The dragon whore will get naught but ash._

_***_

Arya found Gendry in the forge, where she expected to find him. She had seen him riding into Winterfell with Daenerys and Jon. To see such a familiar face had warmed her, but since then she had discovered Sansa's treachery and had her world shaken. Her sister hadn’t sentenced Littlefinger to death due to any familial obligation or justice, no; she’d had him killed so her plans remained secret.

_She’s still shit at keeping secrets_ , Arya thought bitterly as she watched Gendry hammer dragonglass, _I should have known she’s still the selfish little creature she’s always been, but now she’s been taught by Cersei Lannister and Petyr Baelish._

Arya wasn’t stupid enough to think that locked away in a room guarded by the Dothraki Sansa wasn’t still a threat. There were those loyal to her still. She would have to be vigilant.

Approaching Gendry, Arya’s lips twitched when he looked up and smiled, “Arry,” he said, “I heard you were here. Home, in Winterfell,”

“Here I am,” she said dryly, hopping atop a barrel, “How goes the forging of dragonglass weapons?”

Gendry shrugged, “Its brittle and hard to work with, but old master Mott taught me how to rework Valyrian steel; I’m doing all right with it,”

Arya grunted and dug into her pocket for the sketch she had drawn earlier. She thrust it at him, “Can you make this for me?”

Gendry took the paper and peered at it, “Aye, I reckon I can. Let me finish these knives and I’ll get right to it,”

Arya hopped off the barrel, “Make mine first.” She picked up an axe and frowned at it, “And make it stronger than this,”

Gendry snatched the axe from her and slammed it into the barrel she’d been sitting on, “Its strong enough,”

Arya eyed him closely, “You fought them, beyond the wall with Jon. What are they like?”

Gendry paled a little, “They’re – bad. Really bad,”

“Really bad?” Arya mocked jokingly, “I think even a smiths apprentice can do better than that,”

Gendry shot her a glare, “Death. They’re like death,”

Arya hummed and picked up one of the daggers off the bench. She weighed it before flicking her wrist. It slammed into the post across the way, point first, “I know death. He has many faces.” She threw another, lips twitching when Gendry gaped, “I look forward to seeing this one,”

Arya turned to Gendry with her brows raised. He nodded choppily, “I’ll get right on your weapon,”

Arya smiled.

***

As the sun set, Jaime found himself sitting by a roaring fire surrounded by friends. Tyrion and he had spoken earlier, clearing the water between them, and now they sat watching the flames lick at charred logs.

“Can you imagine father’s reaction to his sons fighting with his enemies?” Tyrion uttered.

Jaime snorted, “That vein in his forehead would probably explode,”

“Indeed, it would.” Tyrion raised his cup, looking around the room, “Back when all this started, Winterfell, fighting for the last of the Starks,”

Jaime hummed, “Fighting for survival,” he murmured, taking a swig of his wine; Dornish sour, “Who’d have thought the legends were true?”

“Not I,” Tyrion replied, a melancholy taking over his face, “Jaime, I have to thank you,”

Startled, he turned to look at his little brother, “What? Why?”

“If not for you loving me, I’d likely be dead. You were my only friend, you still are.” Tyrion's smile was self-deprecating, his mismatched eyes watery.

Jaime sighed softly, “I would have killed anyone who tried to hurt you, Tyrion; you know that.”

“I do now.”

The brothers looked up as Ser Davos entered the room looking halfway frozen. Tyrion brightened slightly, “Ser Davos, join us,”

“No,” the man refuted, all but climbing into the hearth, “I’m here for this. It’s only getting colder,”

“Jon Snow did say that the Night King controls the weather somehow. Brings a storm, makes it colder,” Tyrion explained, shuddering violently, “The Wall’s fallen and gods know how long it’ll take them to get here,”

Davos hummed, shifting even closer to the hearth, “Aye. Jon’s ravens to Last Hearth went unanswered and Tormund informed him that the castle was taken by the dead,”

Jaime winced, “That’s not good,”

“No, it is not.” Davos shook his head, smiling as the door once again opened and Brienne and Pod entered.

Brienne paused, “Are we interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Jaime said, smiling, “Take a seat,”

Brienne did so, next to him. Tyrion hopped off his seat and strode over to the table with Pod, chatting quietly.

“How goes the preparations in the field?” Jaime asked her, quaffing his wine.

Brienne nodded, “Well enough. The smallfolk, Unsullied, and Dothraki have been digging from dawn to dusk,”

“Good men,” he murmured, smirking as Brienne looked pointedly at the cup of wine Pod held.

Pod smiled sheepishly and took a sip as he sat down, “I’ll only have one, m'lady,”

“I’ll have one, too,” the lady said, standing and striding over to the table. She poured herself a cup and returned to her seat, “It could be one of our last nights,”

“Her Grace and Jon Snow flew north a while ago. Jon said that the dead are a day away at most,” Tyrion muttered, his shoulders trembling as he shuddered.

Ser Davos sighed and marched over to the wine, pouring himself a generous cup, “Well, it seems I’ll be needing this,”

Jaime huffed a laugh, staring into the flickering flames, “I think we’ll all be needing some liquid courage when it comes to facing the dead,”

“Most likely,” Davos uttered, leaning back in his seat. Jaime looked up as Tormind Giantsbane, the Free Folk leader, entered with a large drinking horn in hand, “Tormund,”

The red-headed man grunted and took a seat, sighing loudly, “Ahh, warmth. Was colder than a crone’s cunt on the road,”

Jaime snorted, shaking his head lightly. Brienne looked scandalised at the wildlings words and frowned severely. Silence consumed them as they sat and watched the fire flicker and crackle, enjoying the brief moment of peace.

Then Tyrion spoke softly, “It’s strange. Almost all of us fought against the Starks at one time or another. Now here we are preparing to fight for them and defend their castle,”

“At least we’ll die with honour,” Brienne murmured, and Jaime smiled at her faintly, fondly; _so typical of the wench to speak of honour right when the world’s about to end,_ he thought.

Tyrion hummed, “I think we might live,” he said, huffing when everyone laughed at his words, “I do. How many battles have we survived between us? Ser Davos Seaworth; survivor of the Battle of the Blackwater and the Battle of the Bastards,”

“All without a shred of combat ability,” the former smuggler joked.

“Ser Jaime Lannister.” Jaime raised his brows at his little brother, who grinned at him, “Fabled hero of the siege of Pyke,”

“Fabled loser of the battle of the Whispering Wood,” Jaime countered, rising to get more wine.

Tyrion raised his cup, “Here, here. Ser Brienne of Tarth, defeated the Hound – pardon me, Lady Brienne,”

“She’s not a Ser?” Tormund asked, one wild brow raised, “You’re not a knight?”

“Women can’t be Knights,” she said, a note of sadness in her voice.

Tormund frowned deeply, “Why not?”

“Tradition,” she said blandly, and Jaime turned to face her.

“Fuck tradition,” Tormind said firmly.

_Fuck loyalty._

Brienne pulled a face, glancing at Pod briefly, “I don’t even want to be a Knight,”

“I’m no King,” Tormund grunted, “But if I were, I’d knight you ten times over,”

Jaime placed his cup down, “You don’t need a king. Any knight can make another knight. I’ll prove it,”

Jaime ignored the baffled, disbelieving look Brienne was shooting his way and strode over to the clear space in the room. He unsheathed Widow’s Wail (gods, he needed to rename his sword) and pointed at the floor before glancing up at her, “Kneel, Lady Brienne,”

Brienne huffed a disbelieving laugh, and Jaime demanded, “Do you want to be a knight or not?” she met his gaze, face slack with shock, “Kneel,”

Jaimie’s heart swelled when she stood and strode over to him, that infuriatingly stubborn expression on her face, and knelt before him. He raised his sword and placed it on her left shoulder, “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.” He moved the sword to her right, “In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.” Brienne's damp eyes met his as he moved the sword back to her left shoulder, “In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Ser Brienne of Tarth; a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms,”

Brienne rose to the applause of their companions, tears in her azure eyes, and Jaime felt as though he were drowning in them. She smiled, and his breath caught.

“ _Ser Brienne of Tarth, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!”_ Tyrion cried happily.

_I don’t deserve her,_ he realised, _I’m broken. A washed up, old man with one hand and shit for honour. She deserves a whole, honourable man._

When she looked at him, he smiled – or tried to – and turned and walked away. As he closed the door to the hall behind him, he startled when it opened again. Brienne was frowning at him.

“Why are you leaving?” she asked, and he swallowed thickly. She stepped closer, a determined expression on her face, “I wanted to thank you,”

Jaime's lips lifted as he remembered the words spat at him years ago, “You’re a truer knight that any of us. And you deserve it, my lady,” 

Brienne looked surprised, then came the stubborn look, “We could die at any moment. The dead could swarm us without warning. I don’t want to die with regrets,”

Jaime's heart lodged itself in his throat, “Neither do I,” he all but whispered.

Brienne inhaled deeply, her shoulders heaving. He remained still, heart thundering, as she raised her hands to cup his face –

Jaime felt as though his entire brain had turned to mush. Brienne was kissing him. Well, it was a mere chaste press of lips but she was _kissing him._ He placed his left hand on her waist and stepped closer, opening his mouth and drawing her into a deeper, more passionate kiss.

“Oh, my apologies, brother, _Ser_ Brienne,” an amused, drawling Tyrion uttered.

Brienne pulled away from Jaime and looked down, cheeks flushed. Jaime scowled at his brother, who looked all too happy and delighted, “ _Brother_ ,” he ground out.

Tyrion’s smirk widened, “Perhaps you could do this elsewhere...and not in the hallway?”

Jaime met Brienne's gaze, and she _laughed._ He stared at her, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them, “Gods, I love you,”

“ _Oh, my gods._ ” Tyrion uttered.

Brienne’s laugher cut off abruptly, and she stared at him, “I love you, too, Jaime,”

“Okay,” Tyrion said, but he went ignored. Jaime and Brienne were kissing again. He sighed and strode back into the hall, shutting the door behind him firmly. Pod, Davos, and Tormund turned to look at him, “I haven’t got the wine. Brienne and Jaime are professing their love for one another in the hallway and quite effectively blocking it,”

Tormund looked absolutely gutted.

***

Arya found the Hound sitting and drinking atop the battlements. She sat next to him and stretched her legs out, grimacing as the scars on her belly from the Waif tugged awkwardly. The large man silently handed her his wine skin, and she quaffed it.

“Heard about your sister,” he rasped quietly.

“I don’t want to talk about Sansa,” Arya said sharply, closing her eyes.

“The little bird went through the seven hells in the capitol,” he continued gruffly.

Arya turned to glare at him, “That doesn’t give her leave to betray her family,”

The Hound pointed at his face, “I know a little something about family betrayals, wolf bitch,”

Arya sat back, sighing, “Jon said that Queen Daenerys saved you all beyond the wall,”

“Aye,” he grunted, sipping from his skin, “We were all dead meat, then she came swooping in on that black beast of hers. Near pissed meself climbing on it,”

Arya snorted, “You riding a creature that breaths fire is ironic,”

Clegane huffed an amused laugh, “Aye. Those fuckers coming for us, though...I’d get on a dragon again before being trapped with them around me,”

“You think she’ll be a good queen, then?” Arya asked quietly, glancing sharply to the stairs when yet another familiar man approached.

Clegane shrugged, “Better than the shit ones we’ve had recently.” He looked at Beric, frowning, before thrusting his wine skin at him.

Arya glared at the man, “I heard your priest died,”

“He did, beyond the wall,” Beric murmured sadly.

Clegane snorted, “This one on your list, too, girl?”

“He was.” Arya shifted, “You both were, for a little while,”

Clegane glanced at her, brow raised, “You took me off it?”

Arya felt awkward, “You saved my life; didn’t feel fair to keep you on it,”

Beric chuckled, “The Lord of Light –"

“Oh, for fuck sake,” Clegane growled, “Thoros isn’t here anymore. So, I hope you’re not about to do a sermon. Because if you are the Lord of Lights gonna be wondering why he brought you back nineteen times just for you to die when I throw you over this wall,”

Arya snorted, as did Beric, who held out a hand for the wine. Clegane tossed it to him, and she turned to Clegane, “What are you doing here?”

“What’s it fucking look like?”

“No, I mean _what are you doing here_?” she asked insistently, “You joined the brotherhood, you went beyond the wall with Jon; when was the last time you fought for anyone but yourself?”

Clegane turned to look at her, grey eyes serious, “I fought for you, didn’t I?” Arya looked away, guilt in her stomach. He eyed her intently, “What are you doing with us old shits on what could be our last night alive?”

Shrugging, Arya gulped down some wine, “Jon and Daenerys are in their rooms, the Kingslayer and Brienne are together,”

Clegane guffawed, “That pretty cunt is with Brienne of fucking Tarth?”

Arya smirked, “He’s _fucking_ Brienne of Tarth, I’d wager,”

Clegane guffawed only harder. Beric chuckled and shook his head in amusement, “The most unlikely of pairs...funny how people realise what they truly want at worlds end,”

Arya inhaled quietly. _Funny how people realise what they want at worlds end_. Beric had the right of it, it seemed. She stood, ignoring the two old grumps behind her, and strode away with purpose.

***

Doran Martell had never thought that he would end up with present company at the end of the world. His daughter, sons, Myrcella, Olenna and Willas Tyrell, Tyrion Lannister, Varys, the former smuggler Ser Davos, Daenerys Targaryen, his bastard nieces, Ellaria, and his sisters’ step-son Jaehaerys sat around him with smiles on their faces despite the fact that it could very well be their last night on earth.

“When did you first see one of them?” Obara asked Jaehaerys.

“Ghost, my wolf, found a severed hand beyond the wall. We followed him and found one of the brothers, dead. We thought he’d been killed by wildlings,” Jaehaerys’ expression was solemn, “That night Ghost started barking and howling. He rarely makes a noise, so I knew something wasn’t right. I followed him to the Lord Commanders room and there was Othor, blue and dead and moving,”

“What did you do?” Nymeria demanded, eyes wide.

Jaehaerys exhaled roughly, “My steel sword was useless. I grabbed a lantern and tossed it on him as he tried to choke the life out of Lord Commander Mormont. Jeor gave me his family’s ancestral Valyrian sword Longclaw as thanks,”

“Gods,” Ellaria uttered, looking pale.

Jaehaerys looked wry, “Lord Jeor then organised a ranging beyond the wall. I infiltrated the free folk’s encampment, learned the truth. I did what I had to do,”

“Good thing, too,” Olenna said tiredly, hands cradling a cup of warm tea, “How many Free Folk did you save?”

“Five thousand,” the man murmured, eyes darkening, “But the Night King came to Hardhome as we were evacuating,”

“Let’s not talk about our impending doom, shall we?” Tyrion half slurred.

Varys snorted delicately, “Yes, let’s not,”

“Aero, do you remember when Elia tried to drown Oberyn at the water gardens?” Doran asked his loyal guard, who chuckled and nodded, “She was furious with him for some slight, I do not remember what, and tackled him into the pools,”

Daenerys smiled slightly, “I wish I had known her,”

“Aunt Elia was very loving,” Obara said wistfully, “I vaguely remember her,”

Doran sighed softly, “When she was betrothed to Rhaegar she was very happy. All she had ever wanted was children; she loved her Rhaenys and Aegon greatly,”

Daenerys’ expression turned frosty, “The Mountain will face justice,”

“Indeed,” Elia, her aunt’s namesake, said fiercely.

Jaehaerys took Daenerys’ hand in his, smiling as Ghost nosed the door open and lumbered inside. He smiled as the Sand Snakes – his _cousins_ , they’d declared themselves – marvelling at the wolf.

“He’s so big,” Sarella said, awestruck.

“You can touch him, he won’t hurt you,” Jaehaerys reassured.

As his nieces fawned over the wolf, who seemed to be lapping it up with a pleased, smug air, Doran watched with a small smile. Despite the impending doom, he felt warm and happy surrounded by his family and new, odd friends.

He hoped they lived. All of them. It was a fool's wish.

***

He watched the castle from a distance. Yellow light flickered and glowed amongst a backdrop of darkness. A smile curved his mouth, and he urged his steed forward; behind him, his servants followed on shuffling feet. His sons sat atop their own mounts: giant ice spiders, undead horses, snow bears.

The living wouldn’t know what hit them.

In the distance, a horn sounded


	3. The Long Night, Pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than the rest, but the Long Night is split into 3 parts. Sorry for the long wait. Hope you enjoy!

At the sound of the horn, the people of Winterfell seemed to all inhale a collective breath of terror before the panic begun. The soldiers, knights, and commanders began barking and bellowing orders all around. The older women in charge of gathering the nonfighters leapt to their feet and ushered the young, old, and sick to the great hall. The garrison of Unsullied positioned to guard the Hall assisted by carrying children inside, their expressions stoic despite the wailing of children.

“ _Archers to the walls_!”

“ _Shut the gates, prep the pitch_!”

“ _Dovaogēdy,_ _iōragon bōsa_!”

“ _Tikh elat tat vilajero, qoy anni qoy_!”

Daenerys and Jaehaerys burst out onto the battlements of Winterfell, their eyes darting back and forth. In the distance small, pinpricks of bright, blue light began to appear. Behind them, the south gate slammed open and hundreds of Knights of the Vale and Dothraki galloped out on their horses to their posts west and east of the castle. Two Unsullied slammed the gates closed behind them and began stabbing spears of dragonglass through the wood and iron; if any wights threw themselves against the gates, they’d impale themselves on dragonglass and die.

Above, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion roared. Daenerys’ gold and cream son alighted on the Great Keep and snarled lowly. Her black and Jaehaerys’ emerald alighted on either side of them, far too big to do so but needs must. They mounted, trusting that their people knew the battle plans. They shared heavy looks before commanding their dragons into the skies.

***

Bran gripped the furs covering his useless legs, eyes wide and watchful as Meera, a dozen Unsullied, forty Reachmen, and twenty archers surrounded him and the Weirwood tree. Hidden amongst the trees were Nymeria and her pack of wolves and direwolves. He could sense them, sense their fury and anger and bloodthirst. The Others had all but sent the direwolf’s into extinction. For the intelligent wolves, this was justice.

Bran turned to Meera, “I’m going to do it,”

“Be careful,” Meera said, indecision on her face; then she grasped the back of his neck and pressed her lips to his. Bran kissed her back just as desperately, his heart thudding in his chest, “I love you, Brandon Stark. You’d best survive,”

Bran swallowed thickly, brushing an unruly curl from her moss green eyes, “I love you, too. Don’t die,”

Meera smiled a watery smile before steeling herself and turning her back on him. He settled into his chair, shivering slightly at the cold, then his eyes rolled back into his head. His mind shot through to the primitive, instinctive minds of the animals in the wolfs wood, the hills that the Northern Mountain Clans called home, the skies, the trees, everywhere.

“ _It’s time. The dead come. You are needed. Join us and fight.”_

Echoing all around came the battle cries of hundreds of animals.

***

Arya stood on the walls with Clegane and Beric, her gloved hands wrapped tightly around her spear. Clegane flinched as the dragons set alight the trenches. The darkness was suddenly lit up like a thousand braziers. She inhaled deeply and exhaled. She could see the pinpricks of blue light on the horizon; Jon had told them how the dead’s eyes glowed like blue stars. It made her gut clench with apprehension.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords._

_There is only one God, and his name is death._

_“And what do we say to the god of Death?”_ a ghost whispered in her ear, and Arya’s lips quirked.

“ _Not today.”_

***

All the people in the Great Hall had been outfitted with dragonglass as a precaution. Olenna held her dagger in a trembling hand and chose a seat beside Doran Martell, who held his own and cradled his youngest nieces on his lap. Dorea and Loreza looked pale and afraid, but their dark eyes held a glint of stubborn determination.

Olenna watched with sadness as Myrcella embraced and kissed Trystane before the young man ducked from the Hall. The young girl joined them; her emerald eyes bright with fear.

Sansa Stark had been brought to the Hall, her wrists and ankles bound in shackles. The girl looked furious, her Tully blue eyes glittering with fury as she was forcefully sat in the corner. Around her were older Dothraki women who looked fierce with arakhs of dragonglass.

Olenna met Qhono's gaze, “Good luck,”

The Dothraki Commander nodded firmly and strode from the hall. Sansa glared at the man’s back, “He spoke the common tongue the entire time?”

“Of course, he does,” Olenna scoffed, her eyes rolling almost violently. Dorea and Loreza giggled at her, making her lips quirk.

The girl scowled mutinously and leaned back in her seat with a mulish expression. Olenna sighed; such a waste.

The Great Hall was silent and thick with tension. Women cradled their babes, resignation in their gazes. Old men looked angry yet exhausted. They wished to fight, too, but their bodies had long since failed them. The sick sat by the hearth, coughing softly into their fists.

Then came the snarling and screeching. It seemed as though the wind battering against the Hall almost tore it from its foundations; Olenna gripped her dagger, watching the door with determination in her eyes. She was not afraid of death. No, she was afraid of being forever enslaved by a mad creature.

Olenna closed her eyes and prayed for the first time in a long time.

***

Fighting with her sisters was as easy as breathing for Obara Sand. She had been doing so her entire life. But this enemy was relentless and tireless. Her sisters and she stood on the western battlements of Winterfell and fought. The pitch had been dropped and lit, the exploding trebuchets all used up. In the air, Queen Daenerys and King Jaehaerys’ dragons loosed barrages of dragonflame upon the dead. The pincer movement used by the Dothraki and Vale Knights had worked...for a while.

Archers flung flaming arrows down into the sea of dead men, women, and children. Ice spiders chittered and clicked chillingly as they climbed the ancient walls of Winterfell, ethereal others on their backs. Obara had impaled one with her dragonglass tipped spear, ice raining down upon her.

Obara panted and sweated as she fought, tears stinging her eyes as she became overwhelmed. Her sisters screamed as Obara was overwhelmed.

Obara’s last thought was of her father.

***

Tormund had fought death before. Life beyond the wall was one of survival. As a boy, he hadn’t been named by his ma until he turned seven years. She’d rasped out his chosen name as she lay dying of shivering sickness, brought on by the harsh winter. Two months later, he lay dying and shivering as his ma had. But he’d lived.

Now Tormund swung his twin dragonglass axes at the wights that came his way. He stood back-to-back with Wun Wun, the giant and his kin making easy work of the dead with their weapons as long as Tormund was tall.

Wun Wun roared chillingly, challengingly, and his kin echoed the battle cry.

It was madness, exhausting. The dead had broken through the North gate like piss through snow; they fought for their lives, for survival, for the dawn.

Tormund embedded his axe into the skull of a dead woman, snarling wordlessly. He wrenched the weapon free, black ichor spraying over his furs and face.

“ _Come on, you fuckers!”_ he bellowed, wading into a swarm of the undead.

***

Flying high above the dead, Jaehaerys felt nothing but bread. Below, the dead swarmed and killed everyone in their path. The pincer movement had worked, and Rhaegal and Drogon had blasted enough of them to count for something but they just kept coming.

Then came the ice spiders, creatures old Nan had spoken of with fear lacing her brittle voice. Jaehaerys had never seen them before. He’d thought them naught but a myth. But there they were, scuttling over bloodied, mushy earth and up the walls of Winterfell.

Jaehaerys peered over the side of Rhaegal's neck as the dragon blasted more of the dead. His guts tightened. It was hard to see through the gloom of night, but the fire and flaming trenches helped some.

Rhaegal flew higher, heading north west, and Jaehaerys saw _Him_ by the Wolfswood. He sat atop a horse that’s flesh hung from its face, bracketed by white walkers. Jaehaerys had warned their troops that He reanimated the dead. They had come to the conclusion that if He died, they all died.

Jaehaerys pressed closer to Rhaegal's back, and the dragon roared, “Come on, boy,” he whispered, their bond swelling with heat and understanding.

Rhaegal's roar was blood-chilling. The emerald beast swooped down, loosing a barrage of dragonfire at the others and the Night King. When the flames disappeared, the others and Night King stood unharmed. Their mounts were naught but ash. But they lived.

Jaehaerys cursed. Dragonfire was useless against them. He leaned right, and Rhaegal’s wings snapped against the air as he wheeled about in the air.

That’s when the snowstorm hit with the force of a thousand winds.

***

The Unsullied guarded the North gate through which the dead poured through. They held their own, dragonglass tipped spears slicing through them. Grey Worm's arms throbbed with fatigue, yet he kept stabbing and slashing with all he had.

The Mountain Clans fought with them. The Wull wielding two dragonglass axes and roaring and bellowing with rage and fearsome exuberance as he decapitated men, women, and children. The Flint used two bastard swords to cut through the dead animals that lunged for them.

Grey Worm was covered in black, gleaming blood and sweat. He prayed to whatever gods listened that they would live. That he would see Missandei of Naath once more. That he could live and serve his Queen, Daenerys Stormborn.

Grey Worm shouted in alarm as the Wull suddenly appeared before him, a crude dagger of the dead piercing his throat. The former slave gasped and lunged forward. The man had died to protect him.

Grey Worm returned to the battle with renewed vigour, screaming his rage.

***

Sandor Clegane had fought numerous battles in his life. He had cut down enough men and green boys that he had long since become desensitised to killing. _The world is built by killers,_ he once snarled at Sansa. But this enemy wasn’t mere men and green boys. They stank something fierce, they fought with no finesse but the ruthlessness and mindlessness of his brother.

Even the undead children that came for him and Beric fought the same way. He tried not to retch as he swung his axe through the neck of a young woman. This battle was no place for sentiment or regret. It was a battle for survival.

Sandor turned and roared, bringing his axe down on the head of a snow bear. It collapsed, blue fading from its eyes.

He turned again, eyes roving over those fighting by his side. Brienne of Tarth, the golden Lannister cunt, Beric, the squire, half a dozen wildlings. Former grudges did not matter anymore.

The dead kept coming, and Sandor did what he did best: he fought.

***

He watched from the woods as his sons and thralls did his bidding. They swept through and over the living with one goal: kill them all.

The beasts in the air had learned to steer clear. He had not a clear shot to any of them. Having a dragon on his side would have turned the tides, but he knew he would still win.

“ _Send the rest.”_ He ordered.

“ _Now, father?”_ his oldest son asked.

He stared at the castle, “ _Let them retreat. Let them think they have the upper hand. Then destroy them.”_

He smiled.

***

When the dead stopped coming, Arya thought for a moment that they had won. But then Jon and Daenerys landed and told them that dragonflame didn’t harm the walkers or Night King.

The retreat to Barrowtown was ordered, and wagons and carriages were filled with men, women, and children and provisions. Wagons had been sent days ago with a quarter of Highgarden's provisions, thank the gods.

The next few hours flew by in a blur of hastily made plans and decisions. Arya watched as Sansa was haphazardly tossed onto a horse and a Dothraki galloped away with her south.

Arya took a moment to lean against the wall and try to breath. She pressed a hand to her side and grimaced. Some ribs were broken, she knew that much.

By the time Winterfell had emptied, the sun should have risen. But it didn’t.

The Long Night was upon them.

***

They had mere days to recover from the first wave. Well, Jaehaerys said days but truthfully the sun hadn’t risen at all and the storms only became worse. Snowstorms turned to ice storms, and a faint screeching remained in the air.

Barrowtown was a bustle of activity. Those who couldn’t fight were ferried to Blazewater Bay to Yara's fleet. The dragons set alight the barrows, and the injured were fussed over by Maester Wolken.

“Have they ever retreated before?” Jaime asked, wincing as the master stitched his face. He’d received a nasty gash over his left eye. He was lucky he hadn’t lost it.

“No,” Jaehaerys said heavily, “He’s toying with us,”

“How many do we think dead?” Daenerys asked, her face wan and covered with soot.

“Over five thousand,” Grey Worm grunted, stitching his own wounds. Missandei stood next to him, mouth drawn tight.

“Not as bad as anticipated,” Brienne breathed, “But not good. What do we do now?”

Aero Hotah had died in the first wave alongside Obara and Elia Sand. Now a man named Veras was Commander of the Dornish forces. He cleared his throat and spoke, “This town is not good for a siege. We must retreat further south. The Neck is a bog, you say, and the Wights can’t swim,”

Meera shook her head and leaned on her three-pronged spear, “There’s lizardlions and other creatures in the bog. The mangroves are too tangled for a cavalry,”

“Harrenhal,” Bran announced, expression grim, “We use Harrenhal,”

Jaehaerys grimaced, “It’s too close to the capitol. We can’t be sandwiched in by two enemies,”

Arya straightened with a pained expression, “I can deal with Cersei,”

Jaime looked haunted, “I’ll go with you. She’ll trust me. I can get you in,”

“I can get myself in,” Arya retorted, “I trained with the Faceless Men of Braavos,”

The man went pale, “You’ll pretend to be her,”

“Yes, and send the men she has to help. We can retreat to the capitol if needs be,” Arya muttered.

“You’re injured, Arya,” Daenerys said, sounding unsure, “We can’t put you in danger,”

“You’re not, your Grace. I’m offering,” Arya refuted instantly.

Bran met Jaehaerys’ troubled gaze, “Let her do this. It needs to be done. We need to retreat to Harrenhal. He can only be destroyed where he was made,”

“What?” Tormund asked, brows furrowed.

“The Night King used to be a man. He was created on the Isle of Faces, and only there can he be destroyed,” Bran explained, face pinched, “I’ve been searching for the _how_ , but...it’s unclear,”

“Can you keep searching?” Daenerys asked tiredly, a hint of desecration in her voice.

Bran nodded resolutely, “Of course, your Grace,”

***

Jaehaerys and Daenerys led and guarded the army respectively as they marched south. Rhaegal and Jaehaerys flew over the rear of the army, looping around every few hours to ensure that the dead weren’t too close. Daenerys guarded the front.

The huge procession was obvious and vulnerable. Jaehaerys’ guts clenched as he thought about all of them dying, all the men, women, and children being turned into the living dead. It made his stomach turn.

Arya had set off with a fresh horse and provisions before them. She would travel quicker on her own. She knew of secret ways into the Keep, the tunnels she had used years ago to _escape_ the keep. Now she would use them to infiltrate the capitol and kill Cersei. Tyrion sailed with the non-fighters to Casterly Rock, where he would show his Aunt Genna the letter from Jaime and request shelter.

As the army entered the Riverlands, they stopped to camp at the crossroads. They were a days’ ride from Harrenhal, and everyone was exhausted and hungry.

Jaehaerys landed Rhaegal next to Viserion and Drogon and dismounted. He pet the emerald dragons snout, exhaling softly as the beast leaned into his touch and chirruped. The dragons were just as exhausted. He turned, smiling slightly as several Dothraki led dozens of sheep and goats over.

Jaehaerys nodded to them as he passed, making his way to Daenerys. Her braids were messy and coming undone, but she had never looked more beautiful.

Suddenly a rider approached. It was Ser Brienne, and she looked stunned, “Your graces,” she said, “Riders just arrived from Riverrun. Five hundred; they said that word came to them from Ser Jaime, asking for aid,”

Jaehaerys shared a tense look with Daenerys. They mounted the horses brought to them by the Dothraki and followed Ser Brienne toward the Riverlands men.

Jaehaerys vaguely remembered Edmure and Brynden Tully. They had visited Winterfell together what felt like a lifetime ago. Edmure had sneered at him like Lady Catelyn had, but Brynden had seemed rather indifferent to everything.

Now, though, both men looked old, haggard, and exhausted.

“Lord Edmure, Ser Brynden.” Jaehaerys greeted, ignoring the slight contempt on the younger man’s face.

“The Kingslayer sent word and men that our assistance was needed,” Ser Brynden remarked, gazing at Jaehaerys and Daenerys closely, “Your graces,”

Edmure seemed to explode with anger, “Catelyn was right. You stole her sons and daughters' birthrights,”

Jaehaerys smiled coldly, and Rhaegal roared from where the dragons had made their nests. Edmure flinched, whereas Brynden shot him a glare, “Silent, nephew. Now is not the time to spout your ‘bastards are sinful,’ speech. How many bastards did you have last count? Five?”

Edmure looked abashed, and his face flamed with his embarrassment. Brynden met Jaehaerys’ cool gaze, “The dolt didn’t believe the Lannister men. Said dead men don’t come back. But then the sun didn’t rise, and I knew something wasn’t right. We left the women and infirm at Riverrun,”

“Thank you for coming, Ser; we truly appreciate your assistance,” Daenerys said warmly, “We are gathering at Harrenhal,”

“Where are my nieces and nephew?” Edmure asked.

Jaehaerys' expression shuttered completely, “Bran is with his sworn shield, Ser Brienne, and Sansa is being guarded by the Dothraki,”

Brynden frowned, “Arya?”

“She’s gone to Kings Landing,” Daenerys said, “To gather more forces,”

Edmure's eyes bulged, “You sent her _alone_?”

“Arya is more than capable of looking after herself,” Jaehaerys said sharply, “Your men may join ours. We have provisions aplenty,”

Brynden stared intently at Jaehaerys, “Something happened, didn’t it?”

Daenerys exhaled roughly and answered him, “Sansa committed treason,” she said honestly, ignoring Edmure's outraged exclamation, “She conspired with Lady Dustin, Lord Glover, and Lord Cerwyn to have my ally, Yara Greyjoy, and her men killed. She also wrote to Cersei Lannister,”

“She wouldn’t,” Edmure protested feebly, “She’s a good girl,”

“When was the last time we saw her, Edmure?” Brynden said sharply, “Wake up, man! You knew the girl, not the woman raised by Lannisters and ‘saved,’ by Petyr Baelish,”

Edmure looked mulish, “She is our family, uncle,”

“Yes.” Brynden’s mouth tightened, “And she plotted _against_ her family. She’s of Tully blood. _Family, duty, honour_. She forsook those words, it seems,”

Jaehaerys was growing weary of the argument and shifted on his horses' saddle, “If that is all, we will leave you to set up camp. Be prepared to leave at any moment. We’ve scouts set up North of the camp,”

Brynden nodded, “Of course,”

Jaehaerys wheeled his horse around and nudged it in the flanks. Daenerys joined him, and they made their way into the middle of the Unsullied encampment. Above, Rhaegal, Drogon, and Viserion circled protectively.

***

For days, weeks, the army slogged their way south to Harrenhal. They tried not to stop for any longer than necessary. They knew that if they stopped for too long, the dead would catch up sooner rather than later. Once the twisted ruin of a castle appeared through the gloom, Jaehaerys sighed in relief from atop Rhaegal. The relief from the army was palpable, and camp was swiftly erected by the men and women.

Jaehaerys and Rhaegal landed by the castle, watching as Drogon and Viserion circled before landing close by them. He dismounted and walked on rubbery legs to Daenerys, who looked as exhausted as he felt. He drew her into his arms and kissed her silver hair.

“Let’s find the commanders. We have to dig trenches and start the defences of the castle.” Daenerys’ voice was muffled against his coat, her arms wound tightly around his waist. Jaehaerys nodded, resting his bearded cheek against her head, “Let’s go,”

Jaehaerys pulled away from the embrace, linking his fingers with Daenerys’, and led her towards the large tent erected by the Unsullied. Daenerys spoke with one of the men shortly before they entered and crowded around a roaring brazier.

“It’s cold,” she muttered, huffing. Her violet eyes met Jaehaerys’, “I thought this enemy would be easy to destroy. I was so wrong,”

“We all have been,” Jaehaerys replied, straightening as Grey Worm entered looking haggard but determined.

“I told White Flea to assign men to guard duty,” he informed them, shifting closer to the fire, “Commanders are coming,”

“Thank you,” Daenerys said, smiling gratefully. Her eyes were drawn to the tent opening when it shifted and Tormund, Ser Brienne, Ser Brynden, Ser Jaime, Bronn, Qhono, Veras, Bronze Yohn and Ser Abel entered. They all looked pale, hungry, and tired.

“Your graces,” they all mumbled, huddling about one of the four fires flickering in the braziers.

“We have to organise defences for the castle,” Jaehaerys began lowly, and everyone turned to pay attention, “Bran says that the Night King was created on the Isle of faces and its there he’ll be defeated. Our plan is to back him onto the island,”

“Like the Bolton fuckers did to us,” Tormund said, eyes narrowed. Jaehaerys nodded, “I’ll tell the free folk,”

“Jon and I will have the dragons help dig the trenches and burn the fields,” Daenerys said, stumbling over his name. She had become used to calling him by his true name, but many in the tent didn’t know his real identity yet. She continued, “We’ve the caltrops and spikes with dragonglass, we’ll lay them over the field to the north. We’re protected by the lake to the south; we’ll need defences for the west and east,”

“The Knights of the Vale can guard the east, your grace,” Bronze Yohn said, nodding slowly in agreement with her words.

The discissions went on for an hour longer before guard duties were doled out. Daenerys and Jon made their way into the castle, grimacing at the Bolton and Lannister banners everywhere still. They ignored them, finding rooms appropriate to sleep in for some time. The cooks they had brought were emptying carts of food into the kitchens and men and women bustled about to look at the ruins’ natural defences.

When Jaehaerys collapsed in a slightly dusty bed next to Daenerys, he barely had the forethought to pull her into his arms before he was asleep.

***

Arya had stopped a day’s ride from Jon – Jaehaerys – to stitch her side closed and pack snow against the bruises on her ribs. After that, she rode hard and fast for Kings Landing. The sun didn’t rise, so she didn’t know when it was supposed to be day or night. She stopped only when she absolutely had to, fearing she’d blow her horse…or kill it.

When the capitol came into view, only illuminated by weakly flickering torches, Arya dismounted and sent her horse away. Undoubtedly the beast would be dead within hours. She had ridden it hard and mercilessly.

Sneaking into the capitol wasn’t hard. It was barely manned, and many of the gold cloaks didn’t know about the secret entrances. Arya used the tunnel she had gone through years prior, after her father’s arrest, and snuck through the winding corridors of the secret tunnels.

Arya came to an abrupt stop in the dungeons, her gaze caught on Balerion’s gargantuan skull and the large arrow piercing the empty eye socket. They’d built weapons for dragons. She cursed quietly and rounded the corner, screeching to a halt.

In front of her sat hundreds of barrels with luminescent, poisonous green liquid leaking from the cracks between the wood.

Arya gasped, “Wildfire,”

***

The raven came only hours after Jaehaerys and Daenerys had gone to sleep. Tormund woke Jaehaerys with a rough hand and thrust the scroll at him. He blinked blearily and leaned toward the flaming brazier near the bed, unrolling the parchment.

_Cersei has barrels of wildfire under the capitol, and weapons called scorpions for the dragons. I’ve killed her freaky Maester and taken his face. I have yet to be called to her side, but when I have the chance I’ll kill her. Let’s hope I do before the wildfire is set off._

Jaehaerys shared a tense look with Daenerys, whose face was pale, “Tyrion worked with wildfire at the Battle of the Blackwater – we need to ask him if there’s anything that will degrade it,”

As it were, there was nothing short of a miracle to degrade wildfire. It would either be lit or not. Jaehaerys merely hoped that Arya got to Cersei before she gave the order for it to be set alight. When Jaime found out about Cersei's plans, he went white then green and emptied his stomach outside the command tent.

But there wasn’t time to mourn the girl his sister had been, as the North and East scouts sounded their horns thrice, and a second wave of the dead came barrelling toward them all


End file.
